TPS I: A New Beginning
by El Varon
Summary: Following the discovery of a teammate thought dead wondering the plains of Africa, a new destiny begins. Secrets will be revealed, alliances made, and an enemy, poweful beyond comparison, will make itself known. An untold future unfolds, as the ultimate
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  I do not own the X-Men; they are the property of Marvel.  Warlock, Shift, Lobo, Seraph, and Hardcase are all my creations.

Author's Note:  This is the beginning of "The Protector Saga", and was formerly called "Catastrophic Events".  I never liked the title, and the story was never exactly the way I liked it.  I had also begun writing "The Dark Army", which was to be the last story in the series, but skipped too far into the future without a good enough explanation of what happened between the two stories.  Also, there was the matter of explaining certain aspects of the last story, which, as I was writing, I realized would not be easily explained in the story.  With that in mind, I have "started over".  Therefore, this is "Catastrophic Events", but with a number of improvements, and with much more detail.  Also, before going on, I would like to point out that this is, for all intents and purposes, an AU fic.  So, with that in mind, enjoy, and please read and review!

The Protector Saga I:

A New Beginning

Prologue Hamunaptra- City of the Dead, c.2970 BCE 

            Carak stood before the great alter of Ra in the center of the ancient city.  As the high priest for the pharaoh, he was one of the few people who were allowed access to the sacred place.  Tonight, he had been ordered to learn of the day of the death of the pharaoh.  He had already seen that in a vision.  The pharaoh, En Sabah Nur, would not die for a very long time, and would only be killed by a man half flesh and half metal.  He had already sent the information back to Thebes along with several of his guards.  But, for a reason unknown to him, he was compelled to stay.  That was why he was still at the city after three days away from the Egyptian capital.

            Carak stopped praying for a moment to reflect on what had happened that morning.  The previous night, he had sent three guards back, leaving two behind.  He knew that they were two of the best soldiers in the army, both earning great status as result of their heroism.  That morning, though, he had found on of them mutilated.  His insides had been ripped out, his genitalia severed, and his head literally ripped off, as the skin was not cut, but torn.  Both he and the other guard were frightened, but still something held him to the city, preventing him from leaving.  The guard, either fearing Pharaoh, the man who would later become Apocalypse, or being extremely duty-bound, decided to stay with him.

            Returning to his prayers, the high priest began to have another vision.  The guard, whose name was Arnat, stood next to him, ready to take the dictation handed to him.  The old man began speaking in a voice much more powerful than his own.  Arnat began writing down what was being said, but not really paying attention.  Despite this, he couldn't help but to hear phrases such as "marriage of the Great Warriors" and "coming of the Evil Ones".

            Nearly an hour later, Carak's vision stopped, and he fell to the floor, momentarily weakened.  He looked up to the guard and asked if he had gotten all of what he had said down.  The guard replied he had, and several minutes later, after drinking a little water, the priest looked to the papyrus where his vision had been was recorded.  He began to read.

            _There shall be a day unlike any other.  That day shall herald the coming of the Evil Ones.  On this day shall be the marriage of the Great Warriors, the two chosen to be the generals of the Protectors, those born to prevent the destruction of humanity.  The Protectors, the one reborn and the one born of the wheel, shall be the champions of the cosmos and shall be unparalleled._

_            They shall know what the animal knows.  They shall know what all men know.  They shall know near invulnerability and strength beyond comparison.  They shall know the might of the great winged Lord of the Other Realm.  They shall be chosen to defeat the Great Evil, who may not be named._

_            They shall be kin with the Goddess, the Lord of the Thieves, and the Living Throne.  Their father shall be the Great One, he who knows what all others know, who shall be the sole being who may find the hiding place of the Great Evil.  They shall-_

            Carak was cut short by the sound of heavy breathing coming from beyond the torchlight.  He looked to Arnat, who had his sword drawn and his face grim.  The breathing continued, followed by loud footsteps.  Stepping out of the shadows came a creature that neither of them had seen before.  It stood on all four limbs, with large, feathered wings jutting out of its mid-back.  Its head was that of an eagle, as was its forelimbs, the claws digging into the loose sand.  The rest of its body, save the wings, was that of a lion.  It slowly made its way to the priest, as if it were hunting.  The guard, trying to protect one of the most important men in the kingdom, ran forward, his sword ready for a killing blow.  As the sword came down, the creature stood on its hind legs, took the sword in one talon, crushing it, and with the other, slashing the guard across the chest, killing him instantly.

            As the priest looked on, the griffin began to feast on the dead man, forgetting about him.  Taking the opportunity, Carak left, creeping slowly away, until he was outside the temple.  As he approached the horses, he found they were all slain, their bodies mangled almost beyond recognition.  Realizing he would die in the desert, but not wanting to face the creature once again, he began to run out of the city.

            The man left the city, hoping to give his information to someone who would believe him.

            He would never be heard from again.

**North Carolina, 1589 CE**

            The full moon rose over the dark landscape, casting its ever-smiling face over the marsh.  The music of crickets resounded through the night, eliminating most other noise.  Except for the crickets and the occasional cry of an owl, everything was silent.  This was land that was still wild; man had not touched it.  There might be some who travel through it, perhaps Tuscarora or Catawba.  They rarely came through, though, and almost always during daylight.  Tonight was an exception though.

            The forest quieted, the owls no longer hooting, and the crickets no longer making their music, only to hear the sound of heavy breathing and running footsteps.  An owl, sitting on the overhanging branch of a tree next to the muddy path, watched as a woman, clad in a dirtied nightdress, ran past.  Though the nocturnal bird did not know it, this woman's name was Catherine Black, and had been, until the night before, a resident of the English colony of Roanoke.

            She had been born in England, and was the daughter of a wealthy and prominent merchant.  She had come to the colony because her betrothed, Thomas Ringworn, was the son of a member of the House of Commons who happened to be a close friend of Sir Walter Raleigh, the man who promoted the colony.  Thomas' father had seen it as a favor towards his friend to have a member of a wealthy family as a colonist, thereby promoting colonization.  They had arrived earlier in the year, just days before the governor went back to England for supplies.  They had been waiting for their families to visit them in the colony.  It was not to be.

            Three days ago had been their nine month anniversary; their families were expected to arrive within the week.  As the sun had set that day, she had an odd sensation that she should get away from the island.  She would never know why she had that sensation, but because she had almost done it, her life was saved.  She had sat on the beach, watching the sun set.  There, she had stopped, trying to ignore the sensation.  She forced herself to think of something, and her mind turned to their trials at having a child.  Since their wedding night, she and Thomas had been trying to become pregnant, but it was not happening.  She wondered for the thousandth time if there was something wrong with her, if she was cursed not to have children.  It was then that the need to flee came on her the strongest; she nearly doubled over as the sensation hit her with all the force of a cannon ball.  That was when it happened.  A blood curdling scream suddenly burst through the night, filling her with dread terror, and a need to know what was happening.  What she was about to see would be a sight that would haunt her until the end of her days.

            She had instinctually crept slowly towards the village, remaining low, so as not to be seen.  At the brush on the outside of the small colony, she saw people, colonists, running from natives that looked like they were from an island not far from their own.  She had quickly seen, though, they were not human.  As one of them neared Elizabeth Bracken, who was clutching her newborn in her arms, the creature's arm became something like a spear.  The woman turned just before the spear entered her, trying to protect her baby.  As the spear was pulled from her body, Catherine saw that steam was coming from her wound, as if her blood had been boiled.  The child, who had miraculously survived the fall, was now on the ground, crying loudly.  The creature only looked at the child, and then, changing its arm into a sword, cleaved the child in half in a horrific display of brutality.

            Disgusted, Catherine looked away only to see another one of the creature's holding a man, seemingly interrogating him.  She saw that it had eyes of pure glowing crimson, like that of hellfire.  She strained to hear, and caught the man's voice saying something to the effect that he didn't know where someone was.  Turning her head slightly, she picked up the words of the creature.

            "Where is your woman?  Where is Catherine Black, human?"  Thomas again said that he did not know.  The creature then reached out his hand, and placing it on Thomas' chest, started pushing.  Wretched screams spewed from his mouth as the nauseating sound of breaking bones filled the night sky.  As the being pulled back, she saw that in its hand was Thomas' heart.  Again, there was no blood, only steam.  In that moment, pure survival instinct took over her mind.  She could not grieve for Thomas nor her friends; there was no time.  Forcing herself to stand, she began to run back to the beach where Ben Jacobs had built a boat modeled after the canoes of the Indians.

            Finding the double-sided oar inside, she shoved the boat into the water, and proceeded to head west, towards the mainland.

            That was how she found herself here, in the marsh.  She was almost exhausted, pushing her utmost limits.  Up ahead she saw a clearing, and what looked like several fires.  Pushing herself with her last remaining strength, she ran the rest of the way.  She was stumbling, but was determined not to fall, for she knew she would not get up again.  Using the last of her energy, she collapsed less than a yard from the first fire, around which several people were gathered.

            Catherine awoke to see the face of an Indian man who was raising her head so she could drink some water from some kind of cup.

            "¿Comó está usted?  Soy . . . Lo siento.  I mean, I'm sorry.  I usually speak either my native language or Spanish.  My brother speaks only those two languages, and the rest of my people only speak the former.  I am Running Wolf, chief of this tribe."

            "How is it you speak Spanish and English," Catherine asked.  She noticed his face, which she realized was not that of a native.  Though his hair was in the same style of those she had seen just before passing out, he had a full beard.

            "My father was on a Spanish galleon traveling to the New World.  He, unlike the rest of his countrymen, felt that the natives should have been left alone.  The ship was carried off course by a storm and was sunk close to shore.  My father was the only survivor.  He traveled inland, where he found this tribe.  He married the chief's daughter, and soon I was born.  He taught me English, Spanish, Latin, and French.  Then, my brother was born.  He was supposed to learn all of the languages I was taught, but my father died before it could be done.  Now, I have explained who I am.  May I ask who you are, milady?"

            "My name is Catherine Elizabeth Black.  Until two nights ago, I lived in the colony of Roanoke, awaiting the day when I would marry Thomas Ringworn.  But, two nights ago, something came.  Creatures who looked as men," she finished, beginning to cry.

            Running Wolf, his interest suddenly piqued, asked, "Could you describe what these creatures looked like?  My brother is our shaman, and he might know what they are."

            "T-They walked as men, but had the eyes of the devil.  They made their arms into weapons, and fought with those.  When they killed someone, the wounds steamed, as if they were caused by brimstone."

            "I will tell my brother what you have told me.  I will be back shortly."  

            Several minutes later, he returned, his face grave and saddened.  "We must leave and go north and west.  These things, they will hunt you.  They will not stop.  And, because we have helped you, we, too, are in danger.  My brother has told me that the only place that is safe from these creatures is the north, as they do not like cold weather."

            Several days later, the entire camp left their home.  They traveled northwest, going across the land of the Kiowa, the land of the Sioux, and the land of the Kickapoo.  It would be some time later when they would arrive at their new home, in what is now southwestern British Columbia.  It was here that Catherine and Running Wolf married.  Sixteen years after the events on Roanoke Island, Catherine would give birth to her last child, a boy, who would be named Little Bear.  His namesake would be an animal that the indigenous peoples worshiped as a god.

            It would be many years later when the boy became a man that he would learn of the English word for the animal.  Believing the name to be much more menacing than that of Little Bear, he adopted it as his own.  And, thus the man became known as … the Wolverine.

**Serengeti Plain, Africa – The near future**

            The sun rose above the sub-Saharan plateau, its light quickly enveloping the land.  A lion pride was gorging on a kill stolen from a pack of hyenas during the night.  The hyenas were still around, waiting well away from the big cats.  Beyond the hyenas were vultures, waiting for their turn.  Other scavengers, in turn, were waiting to feed on the carcass.  It appeared as an ordinary morning in the savanna.  And it would be; at least for a short time.

            As the pride moved away from the kill, a woman walked into view.  It was not uncommon for humans to be in this land.  Some hunted here, and many scientists came to study the fauna as well as the flora.  But, none of them walked in the savanna without shoes, and without any piece of clothing.  The woman was completely nude and was moving as if she were delirious.  A lioness saw the woman, and for a moment, was considering attacking her.  Instinctually moving herself downwind, the female lion caught a scent she recognized.  She called to the leader of the pack.

            The male lion made its way towards its mate, where it, too, recognized the smell.  The big cat let out an odd sound, which seemed to be a cross between a whine and a growl of a dog.  It was almost beyond human perception, and even to those few humans who did hear it, it was less than a whisper.  But to the other creatures, it was a sound that all recognized, but which had not been heard for years beyond comprehension.  The call meant one thing:  this woman could not be harmed and was to be protected.  The animals on the plain then put themselves into such positions so as to seem that the lions were stalking her, and that other carnivores were waiting in their respective pecking order.

            It was not long before the safety of the lone woman was threatened.  Ahead, in the distance, appeared two creatures that did not belong in the African savanna, or in any other place on the planet.  The first was a dragon that appeared to be of both Chinese and European lore.  It was green and had the general shape of a Chinese dragon, but it had the large wings and the breath of fire of European dragons.  The other seemed to be a cross between a scorpion and a man.  It had the face of a man, except for its mouth, which were the mandibles of a scorpion.  It had two pairs of arms, each terminating in a hand with three fingers and a thumb.  Below the arms, it had a pair of pincers with razor-sharp "teeth".  It had eight legs and a tail that split halfway to give it two stingers, each the size of a man's hand.

            The dragon creature took to flight, and was about to grab the woman when out of the blue it was knocked down, incredibly violently.  An elephant had charged it, and had hit the serpent broadside, breaking one of its ribs.  The giant mammal then reared up on its hind legs, and brought its forefeet on the head of the serpentine creature, crushing the contents within.  Seeing its comrade fall to the great animal, the scorpion-man let out a horrific hiss, and charged forward.  Before it got ten feet, a group of hyenas and lions were on it, trying to tear it apart.  Two of the canine-like animals attacked its stingers, slowly ripping them off of its body.  Meanwhile, three lions had attacked it from the front, one each to its pincers, and one going for the throat.  Finally, they were able to fell the alien creature.  After both of the xenomorphic beasts began to melt into the earth, their black blood seeping in like a whirlpool.

            Several hours after the death of both of the alien organisms, the woman finally collapsed.  Not long after, a shadow fell over her.

            "By the Goddess," the shadow exclaimed, and picked up the woman.  The nude woman's purple hair began to swirl as a strong wind began to carry them north.


	2. The Gathering of the Chosen

The Protector Saga Part I: 

A New Beginning

The Gathering of the Chosen 

            The rosy beginnings of dawn stretched forward in the eastern sky.  Though the temperature had been a comfortable 65°F overnight, the day promised temperatures over a hundred.  Finally, the sun breached the horizon, spreading the morning light over the desert plain.  To the north of the plain was sand dunes further than the eye could see.  Far to the south was grassland, and to the east and west was endless desert.  In the middle of this plain stood a lonely, white mountain.  On top of that mountain stood two people, bathed in the morning light.

            The woman looked down to her hands.  In her right was a sword of beautiful craftsmanship with a green jewel at the tip of the hilt.  There was some kind of writing on the blade, as well as an odd symbol.  The blade itself was nearly two feet long, and only two inches wide.  She looked to her right to see the man standing next to her have a sword as well.  It, though, was more similar to a katana, only longer.  Instead of having a green jewel, there was a blue gem at the tip of its hilt.  It was only then that she looked to her feet, and let out a cry of surprise muffled by her own hand.

            She was standing on a giant mountain of skulls.  At first she believed them to be human.  But, on closer inspection, she found that none of them were human.  Many were human-like, some seemed vaguely familiar, and still others looked as if they were grotesque mistakes of Dr. Moreau.  Peering over the edge, see saw her teammates, or rather the essences of her teammates.  She could see Bobby, Hank, Logan, Ororo, Jean, Rogue, Kitty, and all of the others.  There was something different about them, though.  They all seemed stronger in a way.

            Standing up, she felt a chill sweep over her entire body, as if a lifeless hand had crawled up her spine, and down all her nerves.  And suddenly, she felt a great fear wash over her.  Without any warning, day became as night, and before her a great chasm opened.  And from that black abyss came something eviler than evil, darker than dark.  Its very presence turned the air and land vile and wicked.  The great shadow loomed above her, seemingly determining whether she was a worthwhile opponent.  Then, letting out a great howl that froze the hearts of the living, the shadow fell upon her, devouring her very soul.

            Betsy Braddock sat up suddenly, waking from her nightmare.  Her sheets were soaked through with sweat, a reminder of the dream she just had.  It was the fifth time in two weeks that she had that dream.  Normally, the dream would not bother her, but this one seemed so real.  And, it wasn't just that.  For the last nine months, whenever she had a recurring dream, it seemingly came true.  It was as if she were a prophet.  It had happened just before Logan and Jean announced their engagement.  It had happened again when Kitty Pryde had returned to the X-Men, now an M.D.  It had also happened when Peter Rasputin, Colossus, had seemingly been resurrected.  She had known, somehow, that he would be wandering the Yukon River just north of the Arctic Circle.

            Sitting on the edge of her bed, she ran her hands through her hair, trying to calm herself.  She looked to the clock on her nightstand.  It was early, only after 2:30.  Deciding she needed something to drink, she put on a pair of sweat pants and headed downstairs.  Reaching the kitchen, she was surprised to find the light was on.  Someone was leaning half way into the fridge, trying to get to something.

            "Whatcha doin' up, darlin'," the person asked.

            "I had another dream, Logan."

            "Hmph," he said, looking slightly up at her.  "The same one," he asked, turning back and almost immediately finding what he was looking for:  a jar of mustard.

            "Yes.  It was the same one.  Only this time, you all seemed different.  It was almost as if all of you were stronger somehow," she said, sitting down across from him.  He was making a very large turkey and ham sandwich.  She took a piece of meat, and began to nibble on it, taking great pleasure in seeing him scowl and grunt at her.

            "You know," she said, "I've been talking to Peter about what he remembers while he was dead.  It turns out he has about the same memory that I do."

            "Whaddaya mean, darlin'?"

            "Our memories are almost identical.  We were both kneeling before someone seated on a throne.  He said the same thing to each of us, that we would be needed.  But the only real difference is that I saw wings.  Not like Warren's, but like a giant bat's.  Peter said he saw glowing blue eyes."  She got up, and got herself a glass of water.  "'Night.  I'll see you in the morning."

            "'Night, Bets."

            As Betsy was walking to her room, she began to think of everything that had happened since she had been found by Storm in Africa.  She had awakened up in the med-lab, with an IV stuck in her arm.  She had pulled it out, and tried to stand, but was too weak.  She'd fallen face first on the floor.  Almost immediately afterwards, Hank had appeared, apparently summoned by an alarm she didn't hear.  He explained to her that she had been dead for well over two years.  He had told her that her body was still rebuilding itself.  They had checked her grave, and found that although the earth and the coffin were untouched, there was no body.  After spending several more days in the bed, Hank had subjected her to a barrage of medical tests.  She still had the mark of the Crimson Dawn, and still had cybernetic eyes.

            She rejoined the team, and after awhile, became involved with Warren again.  Not long afterwards, Celeste McMillan had arrived at the mansion.  Her father, William McMillan, had been the founder of a Sydney based corporation that had been working with the governments of the U.S., Australia, and Great Britain to create an armored suit that was biologically based.  They had been the top researchers in the project, and actually had a working prototype.  All their work was destroyed, though.  Terrorists infiltrated the building they had been doing research, and held them hostage in order to get the prototype.

**Sydney****, ****Australia****, Two Years Ago**

            Her father was against the wall; she could see him looking at the man standing over him.  A gun was pointed at his head, but she could see his eyes didn't hold fear, but contempt.  "Do you really think you're going to get the prototype by threatening me," he asked, never taking his eyes off the leader's.

            "I had hoped so," the leader said, a cultured voice betraying his background.  "But seeing as how it has not worked, I am beginning to doubt the original plan we had."  The masked man crossed his arms, and tapped his chin thoughtfully.  "Maybe this will help."  With that, the leader took out his sidearm and shot him in the knee, causing a scream to escape from his lips.

            Through clenched teeth, William said, "I have two ex-wives.  You'll have to do better than that."

            "You are much tougher than I thought you would be, Mr. McMillan," the man said, sitting on the counter facing the CEO.  "But I wonder if your daughter is so tough?"  He motioned at his nearest comrade, who took Celeste by the shoulder, and leaned her handcuffed form over the counter.  Placing his gun at the back of her head, the leader said, "You have such a beautiful daughter, Mr. McMillan.  It would be a shame to see her pretty little head blown all over this room."

            "You wouldn't dare," his voice betraying his fear.

            "I am giving you a choice, Mr. McMillan.  Give me the prototype, or I take your daughter's life."

            "Daddy, don't," Celeste said.  Her eyes shut as her father pointed out the hidden alcove where the prototype was hidden.  No matter how this ended, she knew that they would be killed.  Now, as the leader opened recess, she looked for her opportunity.  No matter how much they knew about her family, she was sure that no one knew about this.  As if knowing her thoughts, the man holding her pressed his gun tighter to her head, the pain awaking her senses.

            "How do I put it on, and how is it activated," the leader asked.  He had opened a small metal case, with six metal bands.

            "Place the largest ones on your thighs, the medium sized ones on your upper arms, and the smallest on your wrists.  Press the button on the left wristband to activate it."  They watched as the man did as William instructed, and activated the machine.  Before anyone could blink, he was covered in metal from head to toe, trillions of nanobots acting as one.

            "This is incredible," the leader said.  "I can feel the strength, I can see in the entire spectrum."

            "Will you now leave my daughter and me alone," William asked, holding his knee.

            "No, I don't think so," the man said.  He raised his pistol and shot him in the eye, blood and gray matter splattering on the wall behind him.

            "DADDY!"  Celeste struggled away from her captor, and kneeled beside her father.  "No, no, it can't be," she whispered, rocking on her knees beside him.  She looked up at the leader, her eyes teary, and full of rage.  "You," she said, her voice dripping poison.  "You killed my father."

            "Yes, and though I must admit I am struck by your beauty, it is your turn now."  He aimed the gun at her head.

            "I don't think so," she said menacingly.  As she spoke, a soft blue glow emanated from her body.  "Try to kill me now."  He pulled the trigger, the bullet tearing her head in two.  But, there was no blood, only a brown, almost putty-like substance.  As the leader watched, what had once been her head shrunk, and disappeared into her body, leaving her headless.  Her voice then sounded from her abdomen.  "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"  Her face appeared just below her breasts, smiling dangerously.  The face became a head, which grew outward, held in place by a long pedicel.  "This is a secret that none knew, save my father, and a few close friends," she said, her pedicelled head moving down her leg, and absorbing into her foot.  "Let's have some fun," she said, sadistically, her head reappearing above her shoulders.  Suddenly, spikes appeared on her torso, one for each terrorist.  Each raced into the midsection of the intended target, except the leader.  The gel-like appendage hit him in the chest, pinning him violently against the wall.

            "Damn it," he yelled, trying the get the gloppy stuff off of his chest.  "You fucking mutie cunt," he swore.  "What the fuck is this?!"  He continued trying to swipe away the browinish, gelatinous goo covering him, but it kept re-growing.

            "You are now the only other person that knows I'm a mutant," she said, the stem from her body to his shortening as she closed in on him.  "I don't think I can let you know live, now."

            "And I don't think I can let you live, dear," he replied menacingly.  He raised his hand, where there was now a small cylinder, with a red button on top.  "Surprise!"

            The bomb destroyed the entire building.  Rescue workers would later find only one survivor of the explosion:  Celeste.  She had been blown over fifty feet away, near the bank on the corner of the street.  As her transformed body landed, she made a large, brownish puddle.  Semiconscious from the explosion and the fall, he body glowed softly, reversing the transformation, just before she passed out.  They found no trace of the leader's body, which was thought to have been vaporized by the explosioni.  Celeste, though, knew better.  He had been wearing the suit when the building blew.  He was out there, somewhere.

            Not long afterwards, Professor Xavier contacted her, and invited her to the mansion.  That was a little over two years ago, Betsy thought.  She passed Celeste's room, who had taken on the name of Shift.  Then, of course, was Jean and Scott's divorce.

            It seemed that Scott and Warren had been cheating on Jean and her.  It had been going on for some time, though neither knew.  In the end, Jean and Betsy confronted them.  They had narrowly missed getting skinned alive by Wolverine, and escaped only by luck.  Scott had then filed for divorce, and, once all the proceedings were finished, left with Warren for parts unknown.

            Since that time, Kitty had come back from the school she was attending, the University of Michigan, and Peter, just like Betsy, had mysteriously come back to life.  In time, she had gotten as close to Logan as both Jubilee and Kitty were, though he viewed her more as a sister.  And during that same time, Logan and Jean had gotten together.

            "And how they got together," she quietly exclaimed to herself.  Everyone knew about the two of them being together after Jean's powers had unexpectedly risen in magnitude.  She was just beginning to become accustomed to her heightened powers when everyone learned about them.  In a moment of ecstasy, she had accidentally broadcast her thoughts at the time to everyone in a one-mile radius.  The result was an instantaneous orgasm felt by everyone.  The next morning, because not everyone could use the residential laundry room, most of the X-Men had to use the ones used by the students.

            Betsy put her glass of water on her nightstand, and tucked herself into bed.  She thought of Jean and Logan's impending marriage later in the day.  And with that, she fell back asleep.

Two weeks later 

            Logan's jeep came up the driveway with him in the driver's seat and Jean sitting next to him.  They had just gotten back from their honeymoon.  Because they had not been able to decide on a single destination, they had spent the first week camping in the Rockies, and the second at a resort in the Virgin Islands.  They stepped out of the jeep, and began to unload the luggage.  Hank came out of the mansion to greet them.

            "Salutations, friend Logan.  How was your trip," he asked, as he began to help them unload the jeep.

            "Alright, Hank.  But, I had ta keep on sayin' I had pins in me ta get past th' security."

            "You should have seen the beaches, Henry.  They were beautiful," Jean said, taking a bag out of the back.

            "What the flamin' hell," Logan exclaimed.  He picked up a scent off of Hank; an old one that he hadn't smelled in a long time.  "What're they doin' here, Hank?  They ain't got a bit o' sense between the both o' them."  And with that, he ran into the mansion, clearly very angry.

            "My stars and garters," Hank said, bounding after Logan.

            "Henry, what's wrong," Jean asked, following him.

            "Scott and Warren returned yesterday morning."

Hank and Jean came upon Logan, his claws unsheathed, trying to get to Warren and Scott.  Holding him back was Celeste, who had wrapped herself around his legs and cemented herself to the floor.  Peter was holding back Scott and Warren, preventing them from hurting themselves.  As they watched, Logan cut himself from Celeste, and made a little headway before she was able to grab him again.  In doing this, he was inching forward, already almost halfway to where Peter was holding back the other two.

"Logan," Jean said, "don't hurt him.  He may have hurt me, but that was a long time ago.  Besides, I've moved on to better things."  She put her hand on his shoulder and added, "Please?"

He sheathed his claws, and relaxed.  After Celeste let him go, he left the mansion, and went into the woods, taking his rage out on the trees.  After Logan was out of earshot, Scott strode carefully over to Jean.  "Thanks," he said.

She turned around with a look so cold that it could have frozen the sun.  "I didn't do it for you, Scott," she said, pinning him against the wall five feet above the floor.  "I didn't want blood on the new carpet."  And with that, she walked away.  Reaching her room, she suddenly let him down.

A few days passed without incident.  Scott and Warren were staying away from Jean, Betsy, and especially Logan.  Slowly, everything began to be almost the same as it had been before they had both left.  Though Jean and Betsy still did not like them, it had gotten to the point that they could at least remain in the same room.  Logan had begun to speak to them, though only when needed.

Three weeks after the return of Cyclops and Archangel, Professor Xavier announced that someone would be coming to the mansion for a while, and might, in the end, join the team.  Storm had apparently been to see him several times, and had reported that he would be coming within a week.  Though Xavier had been willing to pay for an airplane ticket, he had chosen to drive.

"What's his name," Rogue asked.

"Jake Ayers, and he's from Michigan.  Instead of flying here, he decided to drive.  Apparently he has not had the best experiences with airlines," Ororo answered.

            Two days later, Jake called the mansion, and informed the Professor that he would not be arriving until nearly six in the evening.  Hearing this, the Professor told him that they would just be sitting down to dinner, and that he would be delighted if he would join them.  Calling to Lucas, who was going to cook, he told him that they needed an extra place at the table.

            Bishop had forced Bobby and Jubilee to help him in making dinner.  They kept grumbling about him being a tyrant in the kitchen.  "Do this, do that, he says," Jubilee complained as she was mashing potatoes.  "Why do we have to do all this work?"

            "Because yesterday y'all got Spanish food for us," answered Rogue, walking into the kitchen.

            "What's wrong with that," Bobby asked, a little too innocently.

            "Nothing, 'cept that you got us all octopus in its own ink, and a side order of one-eyed, foot-long larva.  The only ones that were able ta eat anything were you two, and you had fish.  Ah ain't about ta go through that again.  Ah nearly threw-up, an' poor Jean did.  She nailed Hank right in the chest, and it took him the rest of the day to get it out of his fur.  An' he still smells like it.  That's why you were cleaning the wall yesterday, and that's why you're helpin' ta cook today."  With that, she stormed out of the kitchen, going to simmer in her own juices.

            "Ya know, we were really lucky Wolvie didn't get mad at us," Jubilee said, looking at Bobby.

            "Yeah," he said.  "You know, maybe we did go a little too far this time, you know?"

            They looked at each other with pensive expressions.  After a moment, they both said, "Nah", and went back to mashing potatoes.

            Betsy was walking towards the dining room for dinner, when, as she walked past the front door, the doorbell rang.  "I'll get it," she called, before Jubilee could rush to answer it.  Opening the door, she heard a loud "Oh, man" from the dining room.  Before her was a man of a little over twenty in a wheelchair.  He had very broad shoulders, almost as broad as Logan's, and dark, thick hair that came just past his ears.  He had light stubble across his handsome face, and an earring in his left ear.  But Betsy didn't notice any of these things.  All she noticed was his eyes.

            Jake rang the doorbell, hoping he wouldn't have to wait very long.  To his surprise, someone came to the door almost immediately.  Standing in front of him was a beautiful Eurasian woman.  She had long purple hair and an incredible body.  She had a red tattoo over her left eye shaped almost like a knife.  But all of these things, he did not notice.  He only noticed her eyes.

            It was as if time stood still.  However long they were there, looking into each other's eyes, neither would ever be able to tell.  But, had it not been for Remy's interruption, they could have been staring into each other's souls forever.  "Dis be him, no Chere," he asked her.

            He was about to ask her again when she answered.  "Yeah," said, slowly looking up.  "Yes, this is Jake."

            "Yeah," Jake said, looking to the Cajun reluctantly, "I'm . . . ah . . . I'm Jake Ayers."


	3. Storm Clouds

The Protector Saga Part I:

A New Beginning

Storm Clouds 

            "Jake.  Is that short for Jacob?"

            "Is it Bobby?"  The young man looked across the table to see the blonde nod his head.  "No.  It's Jackson.  Jackson Harland Ayers.  But all my friends call me Jake."  He turned his attention to the rest of the table, and focused his gaze near the far end.  He was so lost in what he was looking at that he didn't hear what Bobby asked him.

            "What?"

            "What kind of sports do you like," Bobby repeated.  Sitting across from Jake, he didn't have the best view of what he'd been looking at.  But, he knew well enough who was sitting in that direction.  He seemed to be staring in Jean's direction.  "You know," Bobby whispered, noticing the direction of Jake's looks, "it's not a good idea to be looking at Jean like that."

            "Which one is Jean?"

            "The red-head."

            Jake looked at Bobby, his eyebrow raised.  "I ain't lookin' at the red-head."  _I'm lookin' at the one with purple hair.  What's her name?_

            "You're a telepath, huh?"  _That's Betsy.  Betsy Braddock.  That's not really her real body-_

            _It's alright, you don't have to explain it.  I can get it from you later on._

            _Okay._

_            And why shouldn't I look at Jean, out of curiosity?_

_            The guy sitting next to her is her husband._  Images of the man fighting a gigantic robot suddenly flooded Jake's mind, followed by images of him in less than savory moods.

            "I see," Jake said, almost matter-of-factly.  "What was your question, again?"

            "I asked you what kind of sports you like."

            Jake raised his finger for a moment; he was had just eaten a mouthful of meatloaf, sour cream and garlic flavored potatoes, and creamed corn.  "Well," he said, swallowing his food, "let me see.  Baseball's boring as hell, and as far as I'm concerned, isn't even a sport.  Soccer's almost as boring as baseball is to watch, but it's not bad to play.  Football is all right, though I don't understand what things like "first and ten" mean.  But, the greatest sport in the world is ice hockey.

            "Why do you say that," Bobby asked, genuinely curious.

            "Well, number one, it's the only sport in the world where you can get into a fight with someone from the other team and not get thrown out of the game.  Number two you have to respect those guys.  I mean, these guys are tougher than what most guys can even imagine.  I saw one guy get hit in the face by a puck,   and was out back in the game in maybe ten minutes.  And, you gotta remember that those things are about a pound of hard rubber traveling anywhere from seventy to ninety miles per hour.  And, dude, I once saw this guy get his face cut by a skate.  He was back on the ice in fifteen minutes, without a face mask."

            "So, you really like hockey, huh?"

            "Yeah," Jake said, absentmindedly.  He was looking at Psylocke again.  Or, maybe it is more like staring, Bobby thought.  Betsy and Jake looked at each other, seemingly lost for a moment.  Then, suddenly, they looked away, both blushing.

            It would be several days before either Betsy or Jake would be able to talk to the other.  Meanwhile, they had both been cursing themselves:  Betsy for acting as an infatuated schoolgirl, and Jake for acting like a shy, hormone-driven kid.  Though neither of them would say it, when they saw each other, each of them had a vision.  Jake had seen her as the woman in a dream of his.  It was, in fact, the same dream that kept recurring in Betsy's sleep.  Instead of seeing her as the Psylocke version of Elizabeth Braddock, he saw her as her original form, the English Elizabeth Braddock.  She, however, saw him as the man in her dream.  He was not Jake Ayers, victim of a horrible car accident, but rather a great fighter, grim-faced with a grave light in his eyes.

            Despite the fact that they had gotten off to a slow start, they began dating less than a week after he arrived.  If love at first site had ever occurred, it was with them.  Though they did not know it at the time, they were soul mates.  They were destined to be together.

Upstate New York, Two weeks later 

            There was no moon out, and for that, Joseph Whitefeather felt fortunate.  Until recently, he had been in the Apache reservation where he had grown up in New Mexico.  There, he had been tending to his father, who had been dying of cancer.  He had been sitting next to his father as he died, and had stayed for his subsequent burial.  He had remained to console his mother and younger sister.  After over a month and a half, he had decided to return to Westchester, and accept Xavier's offer to join the X-Men.

            Everything had been fine until he arrived in Albuquerque.  There, his plane had been delayed nearly twelve hours, and, even then, he would not be able to go straight to New York.  He had to go from Albuquerque to Detroit, and then take another plane from there to New York.  As he had been going towards his terminal, he was ambushed by some type of robot.  They appeared human, and wore all black.  Dark sunglasses hid their eyes, which were a glowing yellow color, the only way to distinguish them from humans.

            After a brief skirmish with the robots, he escaped from the airport.  He had been disappointed to discover that the cell phone the Professor had given him had been destroyed, along with most of the other things in his knapsack.  He slowly made his way to the highway, and there, was lucky enough to meet a truck driver going to New York.  Arriving in Buffalo, he discovered that the sentinels had followed him from New Mexico.  He decided that instead of heading straight to Westchester, it would be better if he went out of his way and into the woods.  There, he was certain he could lose them and arrive less then ten miles away from the mansion.

            He was now only a mile from the edge of the forest, but was now trapped.  Out of the four that had tracked him, only one was left.  It, which he assumed was a sentinel, knew that he was hiding in the deep brush just ahead of it.  To Joey's right and left was open space, with a few trees every here and there.  When the robot assassin came within ten feet of him, he made his move, and darted to his left, in the direction of Westchester.

            Though he was a shape-shifter, Joey could only turn himself into one thing:  a wolf.  It was thus that a very large timber wolf ran out of the brush that had been hiding Joseph Whitefeather.  The sentinel hesitated for a moment, not sure as to whether or not the creature was the mutant he was looking for.  Detecting the mutant gene, it fired a laser that hit a tree in front of the wolf's path.

            Despite Joey's attempt at getting past the tree, he could not.  As the tree fell on him, he reverted to his human form, only to have the tree fall across his midsection.  Believing its target to be for the most part neutralized, the sentinel walked slowly over to Joey.  It bent down, took hold of Joey's long hair, and said, "Target neutralized."

            The robot pulled off its glasses to reveal its eyes about to fire a pair of lasers.  Before it could do so, a particularly long, sharp tree branch entered its eye followed by a shout of "Fuck you".  The sentinel fell into convulsions, and collapsed with smoke blooming from its head.  Having disposed of the sentinel, Joey, with a lot of difficulty, rolled the tree off of him.  Standing up, and holding his side, he could only think about getting back to his newfound love, Celeste McMillan.  And with that, he turned himself back into the wolf, and bounded painfully towards Westchester.

            Just inside the confines of the forest, he collapsed, his injured insides sapping his strength.  He had unconsciously morphed into his human form again, his mind too weary to keep up the effort.  Carefully feeling his abdomen, he felt a white-hot searing pain tear through his body.  Trying to control his breathing, and the tears streaming down his face, he lifted his head to peer at his midsection.  Seeing blood, he placed tried to place his hand on the open wound, but the pain was too much.  Pain worse than he had ever experienced traveled over his entire body like a jackhammer to the spine, causing him to lose his breath and consciousness.

            The images he saw brought him back to over a month before, when he had walked back into his old house.  Though he had been gone for only a couple of months, it felt like an eternity.  Only two days before, he had received the call from his mother, telling him that his father had been diagnosed with stomach cancer.  She had explained to him that the doctor had told them that it had already spread to most of the rest of his body.  It was, she said, only a matter of time.

            After he hung up the phone, he realized he was afraid.  It took him a moment to realize the reason.  It wasn't really that his father was dying.  That scared him, he would admit.  But, the way that his mother had related the news was much more scary.  She had spoken without any emotion, without any inflection.  It had been almost as if she was an android, devoid of humanity.  That was what scared him.  She had been trying to control her emotions, trying to appear strong.  And that was what had struck home.  That was what made him realize it was no nightmare, no mere hallucination, but reality.  It was happening.  His father was dying.

            He was about to open the door, when his mother opened the door, almost on cue.  He could tell from her face that she had been crying; and Maggie Whitefeather, he knew, never cried.  He didn't remember everything very well after that.  He remembered his mother hugging him, and welcoming him home.  He remembered Teddy, his older brother, sitting at the kitchen table, his mind lost in thought.  But, he didn't remember how he got to his parents' room.  It had seemed as if he was on a cloud, as if he wasn't really taking any steps at all.  And then he saw his father, lying on his back, his face pallid from the sickness ravaging his body.

            "Joseph."  He was the only one that had ever called him that, instead of Joe or Joey.  "Sit beside me," he said.  His voice betrayed the strength it once had, the strength his body once had.  He had always been a big man, tall, and powerful.  But, like this, it seemed almost a mockery of the man he once knew.  "I know you, like your mother and brother, are scared for me.  Do not be, my son.  I will be leaving this world soon, and I will be with our ancestors."  And then he started telling him a story, something that he felt was important.  But, Joey droned him out.

            He had never believed in the stories and tales his father told him.  They were the Old Ways.  In this day and age, the Old Ways were antiquated, and, he thought, backwards.  But, he would never tell that to his father.  But, he suspected.  Joey could only pretend to listen so long, before his father would notice that he wasn't listening.  This time, his father kept on with the tale, though Joey didn't notice he had finished until he had fallen asleep, exhausted from the ordeal.

            Nearly a month on the res passed, his father's condition slowly deteriorating.  It was painful, watching him grow weaker.  It was such a contradiction to his perception of his father.  Tensions had been high in his entire family.  Teddy had taken over the position of chief of tribal police.  It wasn't easy for him; he had been a deputy under his father.  And now, as their father was almost dead, they all almost felt they could tear each other's throats out.

            Now, as Joey sat alone at the kitchen table, his brother on patrol, and his mother shopping, he knew his father's time was soon.  And it was then that his father called out for him, his voice much stronger than what it had been in a very long time.  "Joseph," the voice called from the bedroom.  "Joseph, come to me, I must speak to you."  It occurred to Joey that the voice may even have been stronger than what he had ever remembered.

            Walking into the room, he was assaulted with the smell of sickness, of death.  His father, who had previously been lying on the bed, was now sitting, his legs dangling off the bed.  Though he was still incredibly thin, almost emaciated, he had a smile on his face that seemed to contradict his condition.  "Have a seat, Joseph," he said, gesturing towards the chair opposite him.

            "Are you better," Joey asked, taking a seat.

            "No.  I am still sick Joseph."  He looked down to his hands which, until a month before, had been large, and powerful.  Now, though, they were almost as thin as water reeds.  "I think I will probably pass on soon.  Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.  But, it will not happen until you have done one last thing for me."

            "What?"

            "You must go in search of a vision."

            "Father-"

            "No.  I know you don't believe in the Old Ways, Joseph.  But, I do.  I was taught them, as I tried to teach you.  But, that is behind us now.  We must look to the future."  He looked down at his hands again, knowing his son would not believe what he was about to say.  "You will be very important to the future, Joseph.  I know this because I saw it in a vision.  Go out into the desert tonight, without food, or water.  Go, build a fire, and you will see what you will."

            "Damnit, when will you see that I don't believe the same things you do!  Stop trying to make me believe what I don't want to."  Before he could continue his rant, his father's hand shot out, and grabbed his wrist.  The sheer strength in his hand was so incredibly powerful, so overwhelming, that he fell to his knees, clutching at his arm.

            "What the hell?  Let go of my arm!"

            "No."  The older man's voice resounded throughout the room, almost as if it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  "I am not asking you to do this to believe in what I believe.  I am telling you to do this, as the last wish of your dying father.  Do it."  His voice was so powerful, so influential, that Joey knew that he had to agree.  If not, that voice, the voice that was his father, but wasn't, would be angry.  And he didn't want to know what that voice could do if it were angry.

            Several hours later found him sitting in the desert, a heavy denim coat covering his massive form.  A small fire was burning in front of him, the satisfying sound of the wood sputtering and crackling reaching his ears.  He was poking the fire with a small stick, watching as the end started glowing.  He looked up at the sky for the umpteenth time, wondering if he should count the stars.  I might be out here long enough to do it, he thought cynically.  And with that thought he became angry.  "What the hell am I supposed to be lookin' for out here?  Goddamn it!"  And with that, he kicked a stone as hard as he possibly could into the night.  With his back to the fire, he didn't see what happened next, but he definitely heard it.

            "JOSEPH!!!!!!"  A loud, incredibly powerful voice called to him.  He turned on his heels, and fell onto his back.  A huge WHOOSH filled the desert air, as the small fire that was only large enough for a single person became a blazing inferno.  It had only given off barely enough heat to warm himself, but now, now he almost felt he was baking.  The yellow fire, once barely two feet tall, was now becoming blue, and was now easily two stories high.  Suddenly, a figure began to take shape in the midst of the flames, seemingly to be at once made of the fire, but not made of it.  It was a woman, he realized.  "Hello, Joseph."

            "Who are you," he asked, his eyes wide.  He watched in wonder as her form began to take on color, her skin dark, and her hair darker.  She was beautiful, and looked as if she could be no older than thirty.  But, somehow, he knew better.  It was her eyes.  They were haunted with age, wisdom and sorrow reflecting from their depthless pools.  He had only seen that look in one other person's eyes, and that was Logan.  Once, he decided, was enough.

            "I am Speaks with the Wind," she said, her voice still powerful, but now much more gentle.  "And you are correct; I am much older than even your friend Logan.  And I am here to tell you that you are very important to the future of not only your people, but all peoples.  I know all that has transpired that has led up to this point.  But, I cannot tell you the entire story.  I can only show you how you and your family are involved in this."  She gestured for him to look behind her, and suddenly the desert was gone, replaced with an impossibly bright light.

            When the light faded, he saw that he was in a large vale.  A river ran through the middle of the valley, the shores green, and verdant, flowering plants trees dotting the landscape.  But beyond the dale, he somehow knew that the land was barren and dry for as far as the eye could see.  He realized he was close to home.  He looked around, and saw what looked like a great meeting taking place.  There were an uncountable number of fires blazing, each with nine or ten young men sitting around them.  Suddenly, he realized they were all warriors.  But, something was wrong.

            It slowly dawned on him.  Each fire represented a different nation.  As he looked upon the gathered warriors, he realized he knew the nation of each and every single one.  There were Apache, Ojibwa, Cheyenne, Cherokee, Pawnee, Sioux, Comanche, Kiowa, Mohawk, and many, many more.  As he watched, he saw four more parties arrive.  The first was Cree, the second Huron, the third Chinook, and the fourth ….  It took him a few moments to realize from what nation they were from.  When he finally did, he couldn't believe it.  They were Aztec.  Watching as they found their seats, he wondered just when this was.

            He looked up, seeing a movement at the opening of the semicircle that the warriors were seated in.  An old woman began walking towards them, a boy no older than ten holding her hand.  Her white hair fell in two, long braids, framing her crevassed face.  She was the oldest woman he had ever seen.  Despite her age, though, he could see her eyes held strength and lucidity.  He somehow knew without knowing that she was much, much stronger than she looked.  And suddenly, it dawned on him.  It was the same woman he saw in the fire.  That was when she began to speak.

            "You all have been gathered hear at a most dangerous time," she said, her voice loud and clear.  "Warriors from all nations, you have been called to defeat an enemy that comes from the west, beyond the water."  There was a slight murmuring that came out of the gathered people.  "This enemy is more powerful than any rivalry between our peoples, and must be dealt with."  He didn't hear the rest of the woman's speech as her voice seemed to echo in his head.  _It is good to see you _Elúk ter ce Ristoren.  _It is a good omen that you are here._  He could almost hear her smile within his mind, but he didn't know what she was talking about.  _Do not worry.  You will soon take your place, _Hesír-Tanúk.  _But for now,_ tanúk hai,_ go and see that which will happen, and what awaits you._

            The white light returned, just as he saw bowl of steaming liquid delivered to all of the camps.  Once the light faded, he found he was next to a small valley that ran through a vast plain.  All around him, there was smoke so thick it could have been cut with a knife.  But, it wasn't the smell of burning brush.  He didn't recognize the pungent, sick-sweet smell emanating from the smoke at first.  It hit him just as some of the smoke was cleared by the wind.  It was burning flesh.

            All around him were mounds of the dead, burning merrily away.  He was about to look away, when he realized they weren't human.  They were something…else.  They were what could have been almost scorpion-like.  But, they were much, much too large.  Others, the one he thought human, were actually closer to something out of your nightmares.  Still inspecting the burning bodies, he heard a sudden footstep ahead of him.

            Looking up, he saw a young man walking around the bodies.  Somehow, Joey knew that he was the only survivor of this terrible battle.  He walked wearily, as if the battle had just ended.  Judging by the man's appearance, he was sure it had.  He had strange, viscous black blood covering his body, and streaks of red blood still wet on his brow.  The young man looked up, his face grim, and Joey realized the warrior looked like him.  It was one of the Apache he had seen at the meeting.  But, more than that, the warrior was his ancestor.  My family's been involved in something big for a long time, he thought.  And, with that thought, the bright white light returned.

            When the light faded once again, he found himself on a chilly, cloudless night.  He looked up, and saw stars, stretching away into oblivion.  Turning around, he saw over five hundred men and women gathered.  Their faces were grim, and drawn, fear evident in their eyes.  But, for every bit of fear, he saw an equal amount of determination.  An army, he realized.  He was in the front lines of an army.  But, it was the oddest looking army he'd ever seen.  None of them seemed to have any kind of weapon.  Confused, he looked down to himself.

            He was surprised to find he had a lance in his left hand.  It was a beautiful, but massive weapon.  At the base of the blade, he saw a large, red gem that seemed to almost glow under its own light.  He felt weight on his waist, and looked to either side of the belt he was wearing.  On one side he had a large, dangerous looking knife.  On the other, he had a very sharp hatchet.  Each was as ornate as the lance, and had a single gem somewhere on the hilts.  Admiring the workmanship, he was surprised when he heard the sound of drums and marching coming from somewhere ahead of him.

            Looking up, he saw an army approaching.  He was shocked to see that it was composed of the same creatures he had seen burning.  Giant, scorpion-like men carried large, scimitars made of an odd, golden metal.  Other things, with midnight black exoskeletons, capturing the moonlight on their unnatural hides, moved with extraordinary fluidity.  They had two pairs of arms each, ending in talons serrated on the top edge.  They had gossamer wings adorning their backs, and long, sharp toothed snouts dripping saliva as they moved.  Still there were other things that were complete aberrations to nature, things that shouldn't be seen by the light of day.

            He suddenly felt himself changing, his body going through the familiar metamorphosis into its lupine form.  But, as he looked to his hands, he saw that they hadn't become paws, but rather large, grey furred hands, with sharp claws at the ends.  He was a werewolf!  He turned to the gathered people behind him, and saw to his surprise that they, too, were all werewolves.  _Hesír-Tanúk_.  The words echoed in his mind.  What did they mean?

            Suddenly, from his own throat, a mighty battle cry resounded; one that would make the hardest man shrink in fear.  Behind him, the gathered lycanthropes repeated his war cry, and with a massive wave of his lance, he led his soldiers into battle.  And as the bright light returned, battle was enjoined, unholy blood of demons being spilled with that of enraged man-beasts.

            When the light faded, he was looking into the face of a man with dark hair, beginning to gray along the temples.  He reminded Joey of Vincent Price.  The man bent down, and picked him up.  But, the white-hot pain returned, spreading like wild fire, forcing him unconscious again.

            Logan was standing outside smoking a cigar.  Inside, the others were watching some movie that seemed as boring as hell.  He was looking northwest, where there were dark storm clouds.  Occasionally, he caught the scent of the storm, which was disturbing him.  It did not smell like an ordinary thunderstorm, but more unearthly.  He couldn't place it, but he was certain he knew the smell.

            He turned at the sound of the front door opening to see a pair of red eyes staring back at him.  It was Remy, who had also become bored with the movie.  He stood on the opposite side of the doorway, and lit up.

            "Gambit was wondering how it be possible dat he can't stand dat movie, but Jake can."

            "He wasn't standin' the movie, Gumbo.  He was asleep."

            "Oui?"

            "He was droolin' on 'is shirt."  Remy laughed at this, and then fell silent.  He, like Logan, seemed to be studying it.  After a few minutes, he spoke.

            "Dat storm, it don't look right."

            "It ain't right, Gumbo.  It don't smell like it should.  It smells like-"

            "Like magic?"  It was a new voice coming from just beyond the light of the lamp above them.  A thin man with black hair that was graying on the sides walked into the illuminated area.  It was Dr. Steven Strange, greatest sorcerer in the world.  Though he did not seem to have the strength to do it, he held in his arms a very big man with long, black hair.  "I believe you know this man.  He is hurt very badly, and needs to be tended to immediately".

            A few minutes later, Wolverine, Gambit, Beast, and Celeste were with Joey in the infirmary.  Hank was studying his midsection, where he had apparently received a very strong blow.  After a few more minutes, he asked Celeste to wait outside.  He wanted to speak with Dr. Strange, as well as Logan, and Remy.

            "Steven, you said that you found him not far beyond the property, correct?"

            "Yes.  He had collapsed and I was just lucky enough to find him.  However, he appears to have sustained major trauma to his abdomen.  I believe that he has internal injuries as well, if I am not mistaken."

            "Correct.  His injuries are consistent with a singular, powerful blow to the abdomen.  It stands to reason that whatever caused the damage was very massive; perhaps a tree or a car."

            "What're ya sayin', Hank?  He gonna be alright," Logan asked.

            "He seems to be bleeding internally.  It, however, is too far progressed for us to stop.  He will die before dawn.  There is nothing I can do," Hank said, his voice sinking into despair.  Joey had become a good friend of his, much in the same way as Bobby was.  He had, in fact, been close to many of them.  He looked towards the hallway, where Celeste, Joey's lover, was waiting.  He did not look forward to telling her; he rarely ever had to do anything of the sort.  Finally setting his face, he exited the room, and went to speak with Celeste.

            As Gambit looked, he saw her face become sad, and tears begin to run down her face.  Finally, she stepped into the room, and asked to be alone with him.  Logan and Remy obliged, but forgotten in the far corner was Strange, who had become one with the shadows.  She went to Joey's bed, where she kneeled and took his hand.  She began to cry even more.  No words, just silent tears.  Outside, the storm began to pick up, rain falling in torrents.  A role of thunder, louder than she had ever heard, shook the mansion's very roots.  Though she did not know it, lighting was striking the earth, repeatedly and more times than could be counted.  Though one would expect the smell of ozone to accompany the lightning, there was no scent anywhere it struck.

            Dr. Strange came out of the shadows, but kept himself hidden from her sight.  He walked towards her.  He touched her arm, the first time she noticed his presence, and said something nonsensical.  He said, "You need not grieve, for this man shall not die tonight.  No person shall lose his or her life tonight.  By morning, he, you, and all others in this mansion shall be stronger.  Walk to the living room, and forget this."

            She did as he said, for, though she did not know it, he had cast a spell on her.  Just after she left, he heard a scream.  Though he was not in the room, he already knew what happened.  In a few moments, Henry returned.  Two people were being carried to beds.  The first was Jake Ayers, and the second was Betsy Braddock.  Though he knew what had happened, he asked, "What happened?"

            "Betsy and Jake were struck by lightning.  It didn't come through the TV, or anything like that.  It just came through the ceiling.  But, it didn't make a mark," answered Rogue, who had helped carry Jake.  "When it hit them, they began to shake like they were bein' electrocuted.  The weird thing is they weren't hot when we picked them up.  They were just the same."

            "What is even more odd," added Henry, "is that they have absolutely no mark on their bodies to show for the strike.  Lightning is hotter than the surface of the sun; they should have at least have had a burn."  He continued to see what was wrong with them.  Not finding anything unusual physically, he decided to measure their brain waves.  After studying the print out, he said, "Our friends seem to be in comas.  They, however, seem almost to be asleep."

            "They are asleep, friend Henry," said Strange.  "That lightning did no harm to them.  It does, however, signal something grave that I must speak to all of you about.  For, though the lightning only struck those two, you will all feel its effects.  Is there a place where we can all speak together?"

            "Yes," answered Professor Xavier.  "We can meet in the War Room."

            "Good.  If we can all meet there in ten minutes, I would be much obliged. There is much I need to discuss with you all."

            "What about Jake, Betsy, and Joey?  Shouldn't someone be here to look after them," asked Jean.

            "No," Dr. Strange answered.  "They need not us.  They will be perfectly fine; even Joseph.  They will heal in their own time."

AN:  I'm not going to explain what _Hesír-Tanúk_ means, or what any of the other stuff means.  It'd give away too much.  But, suffice to say, it's not supposed to be a Native American language.

AN2:  I'm sorry it took me so long to update; I've had a lot of junk going on lately.  Finally, PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	4. The Great Transformation

The Protector Saga Part I: 

A New Beginning

The Great Transformation 

            All of the X-Men were seated in the War Room.  Dr. Steven Strange sat at the head of the table, about to begin speaking.  Kitty Pryde sat at the far end of the table from him, lost in her own thoughts.  She had been next to Betsy when she was struck by the lightning, and she was still trying to make out what had happened.  She was at a loss to explain how it had hit them.  It hadn't come through any electrical outlets, or any electrical device for that matter.  It had come straight through the ceiling, where there was no scorch mark.  Given the time that Jake and Betsy were being electrocuted, they should have both been almost pure ash.  She, also, shouldn't have made it.  Instead of the intense heat and smell of ozone, there had been no temperature change, and some sweet smell she could not place.  There had also been an ethereal, soothing sensation emanating from both Betsy and Jake as they carried them to the med-lab.  Her thoughts were interrupted as a renewed roll of thunder hit the mansion.

            The storm kept pounding against the walls of the mansion.  Thunder echoed in the sky as if the Titans and the Ysir were challenging the Olympians and the Aesir.  It rolled massively out of the heavens once again, shaking the very foundations of the earth.  The sound reverberated throughout the mansion, shaking the foundation as if an earthquake had struck.  Rain kept pouring down in buckets, drenching everything in the open, making small rivers of muddy water.  The small rivers gradually flowed together, a deluge forming in low places.  Lightning struck the earth in a beautiful, deadly dance, fires beginning to break out where the rain had not been able to touch.  Throughout all of this, the X-Men were gathered in the War Room, waiting restlessly for Doctor Strange to begin speaking.

            "I would like to begin by explaining that I have come here out of the utmost importance.  Though I am sure that none of you know it, we are on the very brink of a war that has been in the making for eons."

            "What are you talking about," asked Bobby, anxiety clearly in his voice.

            "Yes, Steven, we are curious as to what you mean.  As far as current events go, there are no new matters for either mutants, or our country that would necessitate force.  I do not foresee any other military conflict than those in which we are currently involved, my friend," Hank said.  Though he knew this to be true, he an odd feeling that what his friend was about to say would have nothing to do with political affairs.

            "You are correct, Henry.  However, I believe that for all of you to fully understand what is going to happen, I should start from the beginning."  He picked up the glass of water sitting to his right, and took a sip.  "Nearly five thousand years ago, a man was born in ancient Egypt.  Born ugly and malformed, he was left for dead.  He was found by a band of nomads, who named him En Sabah Nur, which means "The First One".  The Pharaoh at the time, Rama Tut, knew that En Sabah Nur would someday become a very powerful man, and would be known as Apocalypse.  The Pharaoh tried to persuade Apocalypse to be his heir, but Sabah Nur refused.  He fought Rama Tut, and won, thereby becoming the next ruler of Egypt."

            "You mean to tell me this Apocalypse guy I've heard so much about was nearly five millennia old," asked Celeste, incredulously. 

            "Yes," answered Strange calmly.  "The high priest of Rama Tut offered to be Apocalypse's high priest, but Apocalypse refused.  He, instead, forced a man by the name of Carak, the leader of a cult that believed Ra was not the most powerful god.  They believed this more powerful deity was named Archelon.  They also believed that he ruled from a place they called the Other Realm."

            Strange took a look around the room.  "As it turns out, this cult was not far from the truth."

            "What do you mean," asked Professor Xavier.  He suddenly felt an odd feeling in the back of his mind.  He had an idea of what Strange was about to say.

            "What I mean to say is that this "Archelon" does exist."  He paused, for effect.  "However, he is now called Archon.  And, though Carak and his followers believed him to be a deity, he is not.  He is beyond godhood.  Gods, such as Thor and Odin, only have abilities over one planet, or one universe.  Archon, however, rules in a kingdom all his own that is the crossroads for all universes."

            "What is this place," asked Peter.  He was curious, but not only that, he still wondered who was in his memories between his death and subsequent resurrection.

            "It is known as many things.  It has been called the Kingdom of the Dead, as many who die go there.  It has been known as Asgard, as well as Olympus.  It is the Kingdom of the Gods, and the Realm of the Supernatural.  Today, it is known by its given name.  It is called Avalon."

            "If Arthurian legends are true, then what you're saying is that Arthur's grave is in a world of dead people," Celeste said.  "Care to explain that?"

            "Suffice to say that there is a relatively large human population there," answered Strange.  "Now, I would like to try and explain what is happening to your friends, if I may."  He sat in silence for a moment, contemplating how to explain what he was about to say.  "Archon has a brother, whose name is Brakran."  A sudden darkness filled the room, and a chill swept down their spines as the name was said.  "I will not say that name again, and will, instead, refer to him as the Dark One, or Evil One.  Archon learned that his brother, burning with jealous hatred, had decided that he would someday march from his own world known as Hedran, and attempt to conquer Avalon.  Therein, however, lay the problem.  In order to attack Avalon, the Evil One needed to find the one universe where the portal to Avalon opened.  You see there is no direct link between Hedran and Avalon.  In the end, Archon's brother found the universe and the planet.  Ours.

            "Knowing that his brother would find the portal if he was allowed to search, Archon decided to create the Protectors.  When the time came, he would send forth two mortals, armed with incredible power, to defend our world.  One would always be male, and the other female.  He, however, knew that at some point, things would come to a head.  This would be when his brother decided to make an all out invasion on our world.  At that point, Archon would send forth the last, and greatest of the Protectors.  Though they would die, if they were ever needed again, he would resurrect them.  Believing earthly weapons to be too frail to undertake the protection of the portal in the invasion, Archon created two blades.  The first, he named Echeliron, and would be given to the man.  The second, he named Ichí-nalá, which would be given to the woman.  Each would possess a small amount of Archon's magic, and would increase the abilities of the owner."  He paused again to collect his thoughts.

            "Excuse me, but what does this have to do with Betsy and Jake," Jubilee asked.  "You don't really think that they're these protecting people," she said, disbelievingly.

            With a slight smile Strange answered, "Yes, I do."

            "Why da ya think Jake an' Betsy are these guys," Logan asked.

            "To answer that question, I have to go back to Carak," answered Strange.  "Sabah Nur, one day, sent Carak to Hamunaptra, the legendary City of the Dead.  There, he received several visions; that we know for sure.  However, afterwards, he simply disappeared, seemingly perishing in the Sahara."

            "How can you be certain he received visions, as you call them, if he disappeared," asked Hank.

            "Two reasons.  The first is that Apocalypse received Carak's first vision.  This vision was that he would be defeated many, many years into the future by a man half metal and half flesh."

            "Nathan," whispered Scott.

            "Yes, your son, Cable.  The second reason is that a papyrus manuscript was found in the Sahara approximately one thousand years ago.  It had the seal of Sabah Nur, and described, in vivid detail, many events that would occur in the five thousand years following its initial transcription.  It spoke of the ascension of power of Julius Caesar.  It spoke of Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, and the fall of Rome.  It even went so far as to describe World War I and II.  However, it also spoke of the Protectors.

            "It described who each of them was.  One of the first was Alexander the Great, but the name of the woman who was his equal has been lost.  Others have included King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, who was actually the Queen Guinevere.  The manuscript stated that each wielded a facsimile of one of the swords created by Archon.  It stated that only the last Protectors would actually have the blades."  He paused again.  He now came to the most difficult part.

            "Each time that the Protectors inherited their destiny, they were struck by lightning from a powerful, magical storm sent by Lord Archon, himself.  And, each time, they underwent a change."

            "What do you mean by change, Steven," asked Hank.  The amount of information he had received thus far was incredible.  Now, he had a feeling that whatever his friend was about to say, it would affect them all personally.

            "They undergo a physical change that results in them being in incredible shape.  They receive new abilities, which are absolutely phenomenal.  However, there is one other thing.  After they receive their new abilities, other things may also change.  For most, their abilities are only magnified.  However, in some instances, usually with couples, abilities are added from another."

            "What are you saying," asked Professor Xavier.

            "I'm saying that if this were to happen to say, Gambit and Rogue, the both of them would retain their own abilities.  However, they would also attain the other's abilities.  So, for example, Rogue, beyond her current abilities, would be able to charge objects with energy, and Gambit would be able to absorb others' abilities, fly, and have superhuman strength."  All the couples in the room shared a glance with each other:  Logan and Jean, Rogue and Remy, Jubilee and Bobby, and between Henry and Ororo, though only Professor Xavier saw this.

            "There is no way to stop it, then," Hank queried.

            "No, to my knowledge, it is inevitable."

            "Steven," said the Professor, "you said before that these Protectors have a great amount of power."  He looked around the room.  "What exactly do you mean by that?"

            "The manuscript said that the Protectors would have numerous powers, and it has taken quite a long time for sorcerers and such to interpret what it means.  However, this is what we know for certain.  Carak wrote that the last Protectors would be the most powerful beings on the planet.  Until the last ten years or so, no one could have guessed the ramifications of that statement.

            "Carak wrote that they would have the greatest physical and strength of any man, and that combined, they would have greater magical abilities than all of the Asgardians and Olympians combined."

            "Care to explain that in lay man's terms," Jubilee said.

            Strange spoke slowly, his voice very grave.  "Simply, what it means is that they are incredibly powerful.  But, before I explain it any further, this is the power they would have when they are at their peak levels.  Physically, they would each be stronger than the Incredible Hulk.  Mentally, they would each be more powerful than Nathan Grey, X-Man.  And together, their magic would be powerful enough to destroy the universe and recreate it as they wished."

            Morning had now come, and the X-Men were still awestruck by what they had learned.  They had found out that two of the three people in the infirmary were the two most powerful beings in the universe.  It occurred to Celeste that they made even made Onslaught look like he was nothing.  No, she corrected herself, less than nothing.  Naval lint.  They were more powerful than Galactus.  They were even more powerful than the Phoenix.  Hell, they were more powerful than Galactus AND the Phoenix.  The sheer thought of that amount of energy sent a shudder down her back.  But, Strange had said that they would only be that strong at the peak of their abilities.  He had also told them that they would only experience it when it was needed, whatever that meant.

            Somehow, Celeste found that she had walked into the med-lab.  She saw Jake and Betsy both lying in their beds, apparently dreaming peacefully.  She turned her head, and saw Joey's bed completely empty, with the sheets rustled around.  She searched for him near the bed, but found nothing.  She was about to call Hank down, and tell him that Joey had disappeared when she heard a toilet flush.  Turning around, she was just in time to see the door to the bathroom open.  Out of it stepped Joey dressed in a hospital gown.

            "Joey," she said a little too loudly.

            "Cel?"  He looked up just in time to see her charge and give him a strong hug.  She had run at him so suddenly, and hugged him so hard, that she had nearly knocked his two hundred ninety pound frame back into the bathroom.  With her face buried in his heavily muscled chest, she said something he couldn't understand.

            "What'd you say, Cel?"

            "I said I thought I lost you."

            "Nope," he said, looking into her violet eyes.  "It takes more than one of those damn robots to keep me down."  He bent down a kissed her.  And, for that moment, all their worries, all their problems seemed to vanish.

            It had now been a month since the night that the storm had passed over them.  Since then, Strange had been receiving many odd bits of information concerning the storm that had passed over Westchester so long ago.  Most of the X-Men had already changed, or were in the process of the change.  After the storm had struck them, it had gone south, to New York City, where it apparently affected the Avengers, Daredevil, and Spider-Man.  With Daredevil, there now was often seen a woman with black hair dressed in red, who, it was believed, possessed the same abilities as Daredevil.  Logan had confirmed that she was Elektra, an assassin, and former lover of Daredevil's.  And, with Spider-Man, there was now seen a woman, who apparently had the same abilities as he.  Logan didn't know who she was, but he knew her scent.  Logan said that they at least had to have been lovers at one time.  The storm had headed west then, afflicting the Hulk, and a host of others.  Currently, it was believed to have headed to Britain, though Strange was not sure.

            But the X-Men had now changed, though.  The only ones who had not thus far were Logan and Jean.  Betsy and Jake had undergone at least a physical transformation, to a certain degree.  When they had awakened, three hours after Joey, they had retained their same abilities, except that Betsy could no longer create her sword.  When Betsy woke up, the mark of the Crimson Dawn, the red, blade-shaped tattoo over her right eye, was gone.  Jake, on the other hand, had gone through a complete makeover.  He had only been five foot five when he had arrived at the mansion, and now he was six foot three.  His face remained the same, except now it appeared more weathered, and more battle hardened.  The muscles in his arms and legs were much more defined.  In fact, his body was so powerful, he was comparable only to Peter.  Jake had also found, to his utter amazement, that he could walk.

            Now, though, the X-Men were all gathered in the Danger Room.  They were here, for the most part, to test their magnified, and in some cases, new abilities.  Dr. Strange was in the observation room with Professor Xavier, Logan, Jean, Jake, and Betsy.  He had come and gone throughout the last month, and had seen most of the new things they could do.  He was looking through the files when they ended their exercises.

            Joey was the first to be affected by the magic.  It was probably due to the fact that he had been so close to both Jake and Betsy.  It had hit him the night after he woke up, which had happened to be a lovers' moon.  He and Celeste had gone out to dinner and to see a movie.  They had been walking towards the car under the cloudless night, when Celeste's purse was stolen.  Joey had run after the guy, his irises glowing yellow:  wolf's eyes.  Celeste would report later that she had thought she heard a growl from Joey just before he took off.  A few moments later, she heard a high-pitched, bone-chilling scream.  She ran in the direction Joey went, and found a sight she would not soon forget.  The mugger was on the ground face up, with his chest torn wide open.  His partner, or so she guessed, was being held two feet off the ground by a clawed hand covered in gray fur.  Her eyes followed the heavily muscled arm to a creature nine feet tall.  It had the head and legs of a wolf, and the torso and arms of a man.  Its entire body was covered in a heavy coat of gray fur.  It wasn't a werewolf, though; it was Joey.  When he saw her, he looked to the man he was holding, who had weighed down his pants quite a bit.  Then, he looked at the man on the ground, and immediately let go his hold.  He turned human almost at once and fell to his knees, crying aloud, "What have I done?"

            In the end, Celeste had to pull him away, trying to convince him what was done was done.  Since then, they had discovered all his powers.  The werewolf was only a transition between his wolf and human forms.  However, they had discovered that in the werewolf state, he could lift nearly ten tons, and had a powerful healing factor.  They had also found that his jaws could bite down with nearly 5,000 pounds per square inch.

            The others had followed suit, beginning shortly after.  Celeste, whose malleable form could take on any shape, size, and color, found that she was able to sling globs of herself, in whatever shape she wanted.  The surgery Sinister performed on Remy seemed to reverse itself, causing his true power to come forth, plus some.  He found that he was immune to Rogue's skin, and that he could charge a card so much that it was equal to ten sticks of dynamite.  Rogue's great strength was increased, as was Colossus'.  Hank was faster, stronger, and more agile, while Bobby was so powerful, he could freeze the entire city of New York.  Bishop could absorb more energy; Archangel could now move at near supersonic speeds, and much greater strength.  Cyclops, though he still could not stop his optic blasts, could now control the strength of them.  Nightcrawler and Shadowcat could now both make themselves invisible, besides their own powers.  Storm had gained her sorceress' inheritance, while Jubilee could now create fireworks so hot that they could easily penetrate a tank.  Last, but not least, Professor Xavier's telepathy had increased enormously; so much, in fact, he no longer needed Cerebro to find anybody on the planet.

            Hank had taken DNA samples of all of them, and had confirmed that these abilities were, in fact, genetic.  He had also looked at the four remaining mutants whose powers had not changed at all.  Logan and Jean's respective DNA sequences had appeared normal.  Jake and Betsy's though, were incredibly odd.  It seemed as if they no longer just had their original abilities, but rather an amalgamation of abilities.  He still wasn't quite sure what they were, though.

            As the X-Men relaxed after their "exercise", they sat in the giant living room watching some movie about aliens.  Peter and Bobby were sitting next to each other, waiting for their respective girlfriends, Kitty and Jubilee.  They were going to see some movie.

            "Hey, Pete," Jake began.  "What movie are you going to?"

            "I'm not too sure, comrade.  But it was Jubilee's idea, so it is probably some teen romance movie."

            "What's wrong with teen romance movies," asked Jubilee as she came in.

            "I have nothing against romantic movies, nor anything else romantic.  Teen romance movies tend to be uninteresting, though."

            "I bet you'd rather see a movie based on _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, huh?"

            "Yes, in fact, I would.  The book is tragic, but yet, romantic."

            "How can it be tragic and romantic at the same time, huh, Pete," Jubilee countered.

            "At the end of the book, Quasimodo d-," he said, before he was interrupted.

            "Well, we're off," said Jean, walking down the stairs, wearing a tank top and leather pants.  Several steps behind her was Logan, wearing his customary black T-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of boots.  They were going to a bar somewhere.  It seemed like they had begun to hang out more at Logan's old haunts.

            As they walked out the door, Peter continued.  "As I was saying, at the end of the book, Quasimodo goes to Esmeralda's "grave" in the catacombs where he dies by her side."

            "Hey, I thought they both lived."

            "Well, everyone has to live in the Disney version, Jubes," Jake said facetiously.  When she glared at him, he just smiled innocently, as if to say, "What did I do?"

            Logan was sitting at the bar next to Jean.  There were currently in a biker bar that, to his knowledge, didn't have a name.  The entire place was pretty much beat up.  The bar itself was dingy, the wooden floor looked like a barn, and the glasses were just barely clean enough to drink from. Throughout the room were numerous whores, most with gaudy make-up applied in excess.  Some of the people seemed to be at least partially respectable, but most looked like the average assortment of rednecks, thugs, and rough truck drivers.

            He loved it.  But, he was still surprised that Jean had wanted to come here, of all places.  He had noticed, though, that her personality had been slowly changing over the last month.  Instead of what she had been like before, she was actually acting a little like him.  He was taking it in stride, though.  Besides, he hadn't had a good bar brawl in a long time.  He was actually kind of hoping for a fight.

            "Jeannie, why'd ya wanna come here," he asked.

            "I don't know, Logan.  It just seemed like a good idea," she said, smiling, and drinking the last of her beer.  That was another thing he had noticed:  she could now drink like a fish.  She could drink more than anyone else in the mansion, save him.  But, he thought, no one could drink as much as he could.  He could drink so much solely because of his healing factor; it made the liquor have no affect on him.  He could drink so much that he could register as dead with a Breathalyzer, and still be completely sober.  He finished the last of his own beer, and paid, surprised they had been left alone.

            They both stood to leave, the only person noticing being the bartender.  He gave them a slight nod as they stepped out the door into the night.  The skies were completely clear, the cool air seemingly brightening the stars.  The moon shone eerily as they walked into the alley that led to the small parking area.  Despite its brightness, the moon did little to light the small alley, which had only two, small pole-mounted lights on either end.

            "Logan," Jean said, looking into her husband's eyes.  "Something doesn't feel right.  Do you smell or hear anything?"

            "No," he replied.  "But, yer right.  Somethin' doesn't seem right."  He inched his way forward, his nostrils twitching as he sniffed for any danger.  She followed closely, her mind scanning for anyone that might be in the shadows.  But, like Logan, she didn't sense anyone.  Maybe that's why you're looking for **something**, a stray thought flashed through her head.  Was it something, she wondered.  She wasn't sure.  Someone or something was there.  They both felt it.

            Suddenly, the lights shattered, and out of the shadows, pairs of arms grabbed them both, yanking them off the ground.  The arms slammed them both into the wall, forcing the air out of their chests.  Jean heard Logan roar, the sound almost deafening in her ear, and then the unmistakable sound of his claws unsheathing.  She felt a pair of hands against her body, holding her just under the arms.  The hands were almost crushing her chest, the fingers digging into skin like daggers.  She tried using her telekinesis to forced the hands off of her, but found she couldn't.  That was when she felt the weight on her head, and manacles on her hands, holding her in place on the wall.

            "There is no use struggling, dear heart," a rotten voice said.  "That weight on your head is made to specifically block your abilities."  That was when the people holding them turned on lights.  Seeking out the source, Jean found that it was coming from white gems mounted on a pair of staffs.  Looking around, Jean saw Logan pinned against the same wall as her, his hands bound in manacles embedded in the wall, with a heavy looking circlet of metal on his head.  It was the same thing she had on her head, she realized.  Then she noticed the blood.  He was bleeding from open wounds on his hands, where his claws extended.  Blood was running down his arms, and dripping on the ground beneath him.  "You aren't going to get away."

            Her and Logan's attention was turned to the man speaking.  He was easily six and a half feet tall.  He had dark hair pulled into a braid, and a dark goatee, accentuating his face.  He was a very handsome man, except for his eyes.  There was something … something evil in those eyes.  They were pure black, and shone with an almost gleeful malevolence.  As he smiled, Jean felt her stomach turn, and her skin crawl.  Somewhere, in the deep recesses of her mind, she knew that had she been pregnant, had she been with child, she would have surely lost it.  The man's teeth gleamed in the torchlight, the impeccable whiteness almost drawing her attention away from his eyes.  His smile, she realized, was there to take focus off his eyes.  But, whatever benefit it did for him was ruined; all of his teeth seemed to come to points, like the gaping maw of a great shark.

            "Now, let's get down to business," the first one said.  He motioned to one of the other three men, who gave him a black clipboard.  "Let's find out who you are."  He started flipping through the pages, looking at Jean and Logan, comparing them to printed pictures.  Finally, he came to the pictures he was looking for.  Walking towards Logan, he said, "So you would be the great Wolverine?"  He grabbed Logan's lower face, turning his head back and forth.  "Not very impressive if you ask me." 

Logan lunged against the manacles holding him, trying to throw off the man's iron grip.  But, his hands were too strong.  Had his skeleton been normal, the man's hand would have crushed his face.  The man pushed his head into the wall, crushing the brick behind him.  Blood began oozing out of the cut, flowing unhindered without his healing factor.  "I'm gonna kill ya, bub," Logan said, his voice low and menacing.

"I don't think so, _Caríl__ Talúk_.  You and _Casa Nareph_ over there are going to die by our hands this very night," he said matter-of-factly.  He motioned to one of his compatriots, who gave him a long blade, black as obsidian.  It was in the shape of a snake, the dark metal curving back and forth, coming to the serpent's head.  "This is what we shall kill you with."

As Logan watched, he felt his temper raging.  His teeth were gritted into a snarl, and his eyes boiled with barely controlled anger.  But, despite the anger, despite the red haze of fury descending over his mind, he could feel something creeping inside his brain.  Invisible tentacles were slowly inching their way into his consciousness, trying to make him aware of something … new.  The invisible tentacles slowly began coalescing, making him, somehow, more aware.  He could sense Jean to his right.  But, something was wrong with her.  Suddenly, she screamed out in pain, the bloodcurdling cry echoing in the night, and haunting his ears.  "JEANNIE!!!"

When the man's attention had been focused on Logan, Jean began to feel an odd weight on her hips.  Looking down, she didn't see anything, other than the manacles holding her legs.  It took her a few moments longer to realize the weight wasn't on her hips, but was **inside** her hips.  But, the weight seemed to vanish after a moment, though she still wasn't sure what it had been.

And then, what had to be an even odder sensation began creeping down her legs, and up her back.  Before she could take a breath, a sudden, sharp pain spread out from her hips, like a jackhammer to the spine.  She screamed at the top of her lungs, as the creeping sensation continued, followed by the same intense, searing white pain that began traveling the length of her body.  As if her very muscles were being torn from her joints, the pain continued, following the creeping, as it slowly made its way up her back, and down her legs.  And, just before passing out, she could have sworn she saw the flaming image of a bird of prey against her clenched eyelids.

The man who gave the leader the clipboard walked over to the unconscious Jean, his face full of wonder.  "Leave her alone, bub," he heard the human male say.  Ignoring the savage, he looked back at the woman.  She was quite beautiful, in her own way.  And, though he was loathe to admit it, he had always had a thing for female red-headed humans.  His desire was indomitable; he had not had a woman in nearly three centuries.  Stepping forward, he raised his hands to ravage her breasts –

"Hesta!"  The leader turned the man around with but a flick of the wrist.  "You may molest her as you wish, but not until both of them are dead.  Do you understand me?"  The man nodded quickly, scared of his leader's wrath.

"Tell me, though, lord:  Was she supposed to scream like that?"

"No … I do not believe so."

"Then, my lord, what caused her to scream so?"

"I don't know," the leader said, closing the distance between him and Jean.

"Leave her the fuck alone," Logan said, watching helplessly as the man approached her.  "Get away from her!"  He struggled against his restraints, blood beginning to flow from underneath the manacles.

"Lareth," the leader said to one of his men, "spit on the ape's claws."  The man moved towards Logan, braving the intense, animalistic rage shining from his eyes.  "This is Lareth", the leader said.  "He is of the race of the Akruthen, who spit the most powerful acid in the universe.  Let's see how you hold up against concentrated spit without you precious healing factor, you fucking chimp."  The man drew his head back, and snapping his head, spit a stream of viscous, crimson fluid on Logan's claws.

He writhed in pain as the concentrated acid dissolved away at his claws.  Acid flowed down his arms, leaving streaks of flesh burnt to the bone.  His hands, drenched with the corrosive liquid, looked nothing more than stumps of bloody, rotten flesh, white bone showing beneath the adamantium.  Logan struggled against the manacles, rage washing over his consciousness, drowning his vision in white hot fury.  And then, something just clicked inside his head.  The rage almost instantly dissipated, replaced with intense puzzlement.  He did not know what happened; only that something was different.

"Look at the fucking chimp," Lareth said.  "He's lost in thought."  He looked back to Echrin, their leader, questioningly, who nodded.  Smiling sadistically, Lareth drew his head back once more, and spit more of the viscous fluid on Logan's knees.  The pain hit him like a tidal wave, bringing him back to reality.  Screaming in rage, he threw his head against the wall, trying to get leverage to pull out the manacles.  But, as the pain ebbed, and his vision cleared, he saw Lareth standing before him, with a demonic grin plastered to his face.  And while focusing all of his attention on budging the manacles, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he realized that was what they were.

As Lareth was standing before the angry Wolverine, he heard metal hitting asphalt from where the human bitch was hung up.  Walking over to her, he was surprised to see one of her legs free.  She was a telekinetic, right?  But she was unconscious, and had the power dampener on her head, which was specifically designed for her genetic structure.  So, how …?  Suddenly, he felt he was being watched, almost as if he was being hunted.  Turning his head, his eyes met the terrifyingly intense stare of Wolverine.  In his eyes, Lareth saw menace, and … victory?  And then he understood.  "Look out-", he began, just as a manacle hit him in the temple with the force of a speeding Mack truck.  He was dead before he hit the ground, green blood and brains coating the opposite wall.

"Soreth," Echrin bellowed, "what happened?"

"Lareth is dead," the fourth man replied.  "He's lying next to the human bitch with half his head hanging out."

"How did this happen," Echrin asked as he walked over to the body.  That was when the heard metal hitting asphalt, and Hesta crying out in pain.  Turning around, they both saw Wolverine on his injured hands and knees, and Hesta, with a manacle sticking half out of his forehead.  In horror and fascination, they watched as his bone claws began regrowing.  And then, almost as if it was chasing the bone, metal flowed down over the claw, almost as if it were mercury.

"Kill him," Echrin ordered.  Soreth, obeying his leader's order, drew his sword, and with a roar of anger, bore down on Wolverine like a medieval soldier.  As Soreth lowered his sword to take off his head, Wolverine reared on his knees, and cut cleanly through both the sword and Soreth.  Watching in rapt fascination, Echrin muttered, "How is that possible?  That sword was pure adamantium."  Focusing on Wolverine's claws, he murmured, "There are only two things stronger than adamantium:  adamant, itself, and ….  Oh, shit."

Determined to end this now, Echrin took out the dagger from his pocket, and raised it high.  But, before he could move, he was swung around, and came face to face with the bitch.  "Leave him alone."  Before he could react, she let out with a hook that would have done Joe Louis proud.  He shook his head, and stumbled; he didn't think she could hit that hard.  Raising his dagger, she gave him the uppercut to end all uppercuts, starting from the ground, and hitting his chin with all of her strength.

As it landed, she was surprised the pain in her fist; she didn't think he had a chin that hard.  But, as he hit the ground, she did not hear the satisfactory thump she was expecting.  Instead, she heard four distinct, heavy squelching noises, as if someone had water in their shoes.  Following the sound of the fall, she saw that instead of the single body, he was now tetrasected; his body was four messes of black blood, and gore.  Looking down at her right hand, she saw three metal claws coated with thin black blood.  "Jeannie, you okay?"

"Yeah," she said.  "I'm okay."  It was not lost on him that she said it a little too matter-of-factly


	5. Secrets Revealed

The Protector Saga Part I:

A New Beginning

Secrets Revealed

They were all gathered in Professor Xavier's office. At the moment, he had the clipboard that Jean and Logan had found the night before. Flipping through the pages, his face was an inscrutable mask of concentration, seemingly taking in all the information at once. He turned to the page with his photo on it, and studied it longer than he had the others, reading it more than once. Finally, he passed the clipboard to the nearest person, Scott, who immediately turned to his own picture.

"As you will see as you look at these files, each one details a brief history of each of us," the Professor said. "These details even go so far as to determine our weaknesses and strengths, both as individuals, and as a group." He sighed, almost hiding his anxiety. "As such, we will have to schedule more sessions of the Danger Room for the entire team. We will have to remain on guard; though I do not know for how long. However, until it seems the danger has passed, when outside the school, we must travel in groups for our own safety." He nodded to Jake and Betsy, who, because of the odd turn of events, had been named their new leaders.

"The first thing we'd like to point out is that these things had the drop on both Logan and Jean," Betsy said. "That is nearly impossible. I don't think I need to point out that these creatures would be able to surprise the rest of us with devastating results." Though she had not said it, it was implied that devastating meant fatal.

"The other thing is that some of us rely almost exclusively on our abilities during fights," Jake said. "Generally, that's not a problem. But, I think we can all agree that we are entering into uncertain times. Because of that, and the fact that, as proven by last night's events, our mutations may not always be effective, we need to sharpen our hand-to-hand combat skills. And I don't mean that soft-core stuff, like those regular karate classes, but that hard-core ninja-kung-fu-military shit they're afraid to teach you." As if to prove his point, he took a fighting-crane stance, with a goofy grin on his face.

"Jake," Betsy admonished.

"Sorry."

"You're insane," Bobby said, trying not to laugh.

"Don't encourage him," Betsy said, exasperated. She was trying desperately not to crack a smile. "Though the Professor usually frowns upon such training, he acquiesced to this solely because of the plausibility of enemies that may be much more dangerous than many previous. Therefore, Logan and I will be working with each of you to develop a training regimen that will complement your particular abilities."

"Many of us have had some form of hand-to-hand training, I know," Jake explained. "But, because of the fact that two of us were captured, and almost killed without much difficulty, shows us that we need to be willing to go the extra step to be prepared."

"While you're talking about it, what did happen last night," Warren asked.

"We changed," Logan replied, tersely.

"But, how did you change," Kurt asked.

_Like this, Elf_, Logan projected. Warren was suddenly upside down on the ceiling, his arms cart wheeling, trying to get free. "Jean, put me down."

"It's not me," she admitted, smiling slyly. Warren turned as much as he could to get a look at Logan. He was surprised to see him concentrating, his jaw clenched as if taking on a large burden. Before he could say a thing, he was suddenly flipped, and brusquely placed back on the floor.

"But if Wolvie can do that, that means Jean can –" Jubilee trailed off.

"Yep." Jean extended a set of three claws from each of her hands, all gleaming in the morning light.

"Are they adamantium?"

"No," Hank said, entering the office. "The magnificent metal which is now so effectively married to their bones is not adamantium. Rather, it seems something more indomitable and durable. Though I have yet to finish analyses of the material, those that I have performed indicate this to be a new material, of which no human has knowledge."

"Is it similar to uru," the Professor asked.

"The metal of the Asgardians? I believe it similar, though I am still not entirely certain."

"Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Yes, Charles, there is one other thing." He motioned for Peter to stand, and to armor up. "If I were to draw upon recent events as clues, they would preclude me to the belief that any of those that either have metal on their body, or are associated with metal, will have been affected in the same manner as Logan and Jean." He then took a sliver concealed in his lab coat, and drew it across the back of Peter's hand. "And I am vindicated. This sliver was pure adamantium. As you can see, nothing happened to Peter. And," he said, running his fingers across Peter's hand, "there is even adamantium dust."

Getting his notes together for class, Jake was trying to decide on which topic he wanted to continue after the Peloponnesian War. Looking up, he saw Betsy come out of the bathroom.

"I forgot a towel," she said. He followed her half-nude form across the room, broadcasting his lecherous thoughts to her. Turning around, she raised an eyebrow, and smile lasciviously. "If you hurry, you can join me."

"Oh goody," he said, mischievously, bounding off the bed and taking his shirt off in a single motion. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob, someone knocked on their door. Choosing to ignore the person, he turned to knob, only to hear the knock again, and Jubilee's voice announcing he had mail. Resigning himself to go to the door, his libido dropped as he heard the shower begin in the bathroom. It dropped even more as he opened the door, to see the young woman leaning against his doorframe.

"You've got mail," she said, handing him an envelope. "So who's Michael?"

Looking at her petulantly, he said, "He's my brother."

"Look anything like you?"

"Quite a bit like…" He got a far-off look in his eyes, looking over her head.

"Jake?" She waved her hand in front of his eyes. "Yoo-hoo, Jake, anybody home?"

Shaking his head to clear it, he said, "Somebody's at the front door. I don't know who it is."

"It's Nathan." Jean hurriedly walked by, a harried look on her face. She was followed by Scott, who looked so uptight that Jake was surprised there was no tree trunk hanging out his ass.

"That's Jean and Scott's son, isn't it," Jake whispered.

"Well … basically," Jubilee responded.

"He doesn't know what's happened between Logan, and Jean, and Scott, does he?"

"Don't think so." She looked up at him with a look that said, "I'm gettin' the hell outta Dodge." "I think Bobby wanted to take me to the mall. I think I'll go get him."

Watching her go, Jake sighed to himself. "This is gonna be interesting." As he was walking back into the room, he heard a loud shriek from the bathroom, and Betsy yelling his name. He slammed open the door, and ran in … slipping on the floor, hitting his head on the tile, and sliding into the wall. "Damn it," he said, rubbing his head, "that hurt." It wasn't until then that he noticed the floor was cold.

He turned over, and was surprised to see a thick sheet of ice on the floor. It covered the entire bathroom in an almost two inch sheet of solid ice. That was when he realized it was all coming from the shower. Looking up, he saw Betsy, half encased in ice. Somehow, the water from the shower had frozen, and had covered her front half, leaving her back to the cold air. "Ah, hell."

_Jake, get me out of here._

_What happened? _He was able to get to his feet, but was still slipping without any traction.

_I don't know. One moment the water was flowing, and hot, and the next, it was ice._

_I'll see what I can do._ He ever so cautiously made his way from the wall to the shower, carefully placing his feet beneath him. Just as he reached the tub, he slipped again, landing on his back, and hitting his head again. "Damn it," he muttered, rolling over again. "Fucking ice." As he got to his hands and knees, he could feel his temper at the back of his mind, threatening to boil to the top if he became more frustrated. Trying to compose himself, he started reigning in his temper, only to realize his hands were now in puddles of water. The puddles were boiling hot, but to his surprise, his hands weren't being scalded. In fact, they felt only a little warmer than usual, a pleasant warm sensation flowing over his fingers.

Slowly standing, he held his hands out in front of him, and concentrated on his temper. Faster than he could perceive, an aura of red-orange flame surrounded the entire lower half of his forearms and hands, the fire gently lapping at his skin. Reaching his hand out to Betsy's iced-over form, he imagined himself melting the ice with the fire. As soon as the thought occurred in his mind, a stream of red-hot fury bathed the ice, melting it quicker than he ever imagined. As most of the ice sloughed off, Betsy was left shivering, small packs of slush still on her body, taking little attention away from her cyanotic skin.

Picking her out of the shower, he murmured, "You're freezing."

"I'm s-s-so c-c-c-cold."

"Damn it," he said, realization dawning. "You're hypothermic." He immediately took off his shirt, and pulled her close to him, holding her as close as possible.

"Wha-What're y-y-you d-doing?"

"I'm trying to warm you up." And though he hated the thought, he relished the feeling of her nipples, hardened from the cold, against his bare chest.

"I-It w-w-w-won't w-work. Need a f-f-fire." Though neither noticed, her arms, wrapped around his back, began glowing as if they were embers of a dying fire.

- - - -

A week after their bathroom fiasco, Jake and Betsy asked Professor Xavier to sit in the observation room to the Danger Room in their session. In only the space of a week, they had learned all of their abilities. They still hadn't told anyone what they could do. They now stood on the floor of the Danger Room, looking towards the observation room. They were surprised to see not only Professor Xavier and Dr. Strange, but the rest of the X-Men as well.

"Jake, Betsy, are you ready," asked the Professor.

"Yeah, Prof, we're ready," came Jake's reply.

Hank began pressing buttons, and uploading a program. In the Danger Room, a round arena in the middle of a dojo suddenly appeared. Betsy and Jake stood facing each other on the platform.

"Whenever you are ready," Hank said.

Jake and Betsy each took a fighting stance. They began circling each other, each sizing the other up. After nearly a minute, Jake struck. . .with a sword that had not been in his hand before. He had reached for an imaginary blade, and it appeared as he began unsheathing it. Where he had pulled it from was now a scabbard attached to his waist. Betsy blocked his sword with her own, which had also appeared out of a sheath that had not been there moments before.

"I expected as much," murmured Strange to himself.

They began to fight faster and faster, each matching the other in speed and ability. It seemed as if they knew beforehand what the other was going to do. It was not practiced though, that much was for certain. They would not be able to choreograph this; it was just too fast. Strike for strike they were equal; neither one could get the upper hand over the other. And they kept on fighting faster and faster, sparks erupting from each blow that was blocked. The sounds of the clashes were coming so closely after each other that they now seemed to be a single sound.

Now, it was impossible to see their blades, or their hands, they were moving so fast. Suddenly, everything stopped. They were at a stalemate. Each had their respective blades at the other's throat. As if on cue, they both leaped away from each other, easily covering twenty feet. They threw their blades into the mat, keeping them upright in case they would be needed again. They now approached each other slowly, warily. Neither put their guard down. Suddenly, Betsy lashed out with a powerful sweep, trying to take Jake off his feet. He saw it coming, and easily jumped over her leg. In the air, he kicked out with his right leg, trying to hit Betsy in the head. She dodged while still on the ground, and kicked him with her left foot, hoping to knock him down.

The kick hit him in his left leg, causing him to lose control of his descent. He landed on his hands, turned it into a handspring, and landed on his feet several feet away from her. This kept on going for a long time, and was slowly picking up pace. They were moving fast now, almost as fast as they had been with the swords. Their agility, strength, and speed were incredible. It was like watching a kung fu movie in fast forward.

"I suggest that we test their abilities against other opponents besides themselves," Strange said to Professor Xavier.

"I agree. Henry, would you please tell them that we are going to upload another program?"

"If I may suggest even further," Strange said, "it might be a good idea to not let them know that the program is about to change." He looked down at the Professor as he said this. "You might want to place the Danger Room on its highest setting as well."

"Professor, sir," Hank asked, clearly worried.

"Go ahead, Henry. I believe they will be all right." Hank quickly complied, though he still had his misgivings.

Betsy and Jake were now in the heat of another power struggle when the scenery changed. Instead of the dojo with the round mat, they were now standing in an open field surrounded by trees on all sides. Above them, the night sky was clear, allowing the stars to shine down on them. They held their hands out, seemingly calling for something. Their swords flew into their hands almost immediately. They both sheathed their blades, both of them disappearing once inside their respective scabbards.

From a low bush near to them, they heard a light growling noise. Out of the bush leapt Sabertooth, his claws intent on cutting Betsy again. As he swept his claws at her, she ducked and grabbed his arm. From her hands, a red glow came, followed by the smell of burnt flesh. As he got away, her hands were covered in an aura of fire. Jake, not wanting Betsy to get all of the action, held out his own hand, and a stream of fire barreled towards Sabertooth. It hit him directly in the chest, and consumed him almost immediately.

They defeated several other mutants using the other three elements: earth, air, and water. They were now facing Magneto, and were, at the moment, losing. They had been transported from the field to the center of a junkyard, with a bunch of scrap metal all around them. He had been using these pieces of metal as all kinds of weapons, and had begun to win. Finally, after a barrage of spear like projectiles, both Jake and Betsy got fed up. Suddenly from his left hand and her right, there stretched an arc of lightning. At the apex of the arc was Magneto, taking the combined voltage of the electricity being produced. After defeating him, they found themselves in the field, once again.

"Now what," Jake exclaimed. Before he could finish his sentence, they were ambushed by none other than Apocalypse. The warlord hit Betsy in the small of the back, sending her flying. Jake was by her side in an instant, her head being comforted by his hand. She was dazed, but not hurt. Still, Jake was angry. The more he knelt next to Betsy, the angrier he became. Finally, he kissed her cheek and said, "I'll be right back."

As he stood, his eyes flashed a brilliant green before glowing with an eerie golden light. He walked slowly towards the ancient mutant who had been standing, as per the computer's orders, only about twenty feet away. A smile stretched across the big man's face as if his attack would only be as a mosquito to a grizzly bear. Warlock, too, was smiling. But, his was not one of confidence. It was one borne of anger; his smile could have frozen anything.

Up in the observation room, Hank was looking at Jake's heart monitor. What he saw couldn't be happening, could it? He looked to Kitty, and asked her to make sure the machine was working correctly. It only took a few moments to find that it was. But that still did not explain what was happening.

"Professor, sir? I believe that you should have a look at this," he said.

"Yes, Henry," Professor Xavier said before he saw the monitor. "Is this information accurate, Henry?"

"Yes, Professor. Despite Jake being alive and about to combat Apocalypse, his heart rate is only nine beats per minute."

"How can that be, Henry?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, Professor."

Meanwhile, Warlock was now less than three feet away from the mountain of a man. His golden eyes shone, and his smile was cold. The warlord's face only showed that he believed himself to be unbeatable.

"You will only succeed in annoying me, gnat," he said, smiling. Suddenly, he launched himself forward with a devastating punch to Warlock's midsection.

To Apocalypse's surprise, he didn't move at all. Instead, he threw up his arm and blocked his punch. It didn't even make him flinch.

"Did you just see what I thought I just saw," Bobby asked.

"What," asked Rogue.

"Jake just blocked a punch from Apocalypse."

"You serious, sugah?"

"Yeah. Check it out."

Back in the Danger Room, Warlock had just grabbed Apocalypse's wrist. The ancient mutant swung with his other arm, hoping to free himself, but to no avail. Warlock ducked under the punch, and gave him a powerful uppercut to the abdomen. The antediluvian warlord doubled over in pain, seemingly wanting to vomit. He tried to charge again, but received a perfect scissors-action kick straight to his face, sending him stumbling back nearly ten feet.

He stalked forward, this time with murder in his eyes. Warlock only stood his ground, never moving an inch. Apocalypse began growing in size, stomping ever more loudly towards his opponent. At the very last moment, when it seemed as if he was going to let himself be run over, Warlock roundhouse kicked. But, it was no ordinary kick. As the kick reached its apex, a glob of … lava left his foot and hit the warlord in the chest, sending him crashing into the trees on the other side of the clearing.

Jake's body now began to glow with a white iridescence, almost as if it were lightning. Then, he jumped nearly one hundred feet in the air, and flew straight at Apocalypse's neck. But, no one else saw him as Jake. Everyone else saw him as a bolt of lightning. All the others knew was that he had hit Apocalypse, but they did not know what happened.

Betsy sat up, and saw Jake on the other side of the clearing, standing over Apocalypse. Out of nowhere, a large laser shot hit him in the back. Looking over her shoulder, Betsy saw five of the older types of sentinels. Each was lumbering towards them, discharging round after round of devastating laser fire. But Betsy didn't care about that. Performing one of the incredible jumps that Jake already had, she was at his side in only a moment. Unlike her, he had been hurt. His back was burned, but other than that, he was all right. Still, Betsy was pissed off. She was really pissed off.

She stood; her eyes not the color Jake's had been earlier, but rather a bright green. She stood on the opposite side of the clearing that the sentinels were standing on.

The head sentinel said, "Mutant gene located. Surrender mutant."

At this, Betsy spoke, her voice unnaturally loud and noble, in a different tongue. "_Thanén malíte thai, _Psylocke, _ce Tana Arnasa, ce Ana ter ce Kerancen, Nomer ter ce Spirasen ter Avalon, i Saíneth ter ce Tas ter Ra'näíth. Thanén saníte dasúk hai, _Warlock, _ce Tanúk Ennasíl, ce Anúk ter ce Kerancen, Nomer ter ce Spirasen ter Avalon, i Saíneth ter ce Tas ter Ra'näíth!._"

"That's not good," said Doctor Strange, listening to what Jake had said. He was still listening, though, because Jake wasn't done.

"_Fener kis, varí tai!_"

"That definitely is not good."

"Professor, sir, perhaps you should have a look at this," Hank said. "There is a great deal of energy radiating from Betsy. It appears that she is emitting every wavelength of electromagnetic radiation in addition to immeasurable quantities of heat. And if I am correct, this energy is only building, sir."

"But, she can only hold so much, Henry," replied Xavier.

"Yes, quite right. I believe she is going to release the energy in an explosive outburst."

In the Danger Room, Betsy had her hands spread wide in front of her. Between them was now a dancing beam of white light with small pixels of color. Exactly half-way between her hands, a ball of the light energy began to materialize. It began to grow, slowly, in waves. It was now the size of a soft ball. The sentinels began to walk across the field, getting into closer range to use their lasers. The ball of energy was still growing, and was now the size of a bowling ball. Still the sentinels came forward.

In the observation room, Dr. Strange was feeling extremely apprehensive. Some of what Betsy said sounded familiar. It seemed similar to an ancient language, now only used amongst wizards and sorcerers. Even then, very few people still knew it. He was watching Betsy and her expanding ball. He knew that neither Jake or Betsy could use the full extent of their powers yet; they'd only to use all their powers when the Evil was at its worst. It was a measure by Archon to prevent any one person from having too much power. But, still, the sheer magnitude of their abilities so far was incredible. And he thought that he knew what Betsy was doing.

He believed it was an amalgamation of his mutant and magical powers. Betsy and Jake could both control the elements: earth, fire, wind, and water. They could also control lightning. He believed that this was the combining of those powers with magic that Betsy was doing right now. But, as he looked, he saw that the ball between Betsy's hands was now nearly the size of a monster truck tire. And, suddenly, he realized that he would have to get the X-Men out of there.

A quiet moment passed as the beam from one of the sentinels' hands hit Betsy square in the chest. To the astonishment of the other X-Men, it didn't even faze her. In fact, it only seemed to make her angrier. Dr. Strange saw all of this. Betsy seemed about ready to fire the energy projectile she was creating. Betsy's arms pulled back to release the energy she had been building up. In an instant, Strange transported all of the X-Men and himself to a safer spot, away from the Danger Room.

"Why the hell did ya have ta go an' do that," Rogue asked, clearly agitated at not being able to see what happened. "Ah wanted to see what was gonna happen ta those damn ro-."

A loud explosion from the Danger Room cut her off, sending an incredible shockwave through the entire school. As it hit, all of the X-Men were knocked off of their feet, the sound nearly crushing their very skulls. A cloud of dust and debris erupted from the direction of the Danger Room. It burst into the hallway they were in, destroying the doors, forcing them to duck, and covering them in a thick layer of gray.

Bobby was the first to stand up, and look at the damage. It looked to him that no one was hurt, except they were all covered in the dust. Everyone looked like a giant dust bunny.

"Everybody all right," Logan asked.

"Yeah, we're all right," grumbled Bishop, looking at his gun. During the chaos, the gun had gotten dust down its barrel; it was going to take him forever to get it all out.

"How about Jake and Betsy, though," Jean asked, worried.

Not wanting an answer, they made their way to the observation room as fast as they could. When they got there, they were overwhelmed by the destruction they saw. The computers, amalgamations of human and Shi'ar technologies, were all destroyed. The only things left of them were piles of metal, plastic, and wire. The windows to the Danger Room had been shattered, sending glass fragments into the floor and into the walls, causing Hank to be extremely cautious as to where he placed his bare feet. But despite all this, what held their attention was the opposite side of the Danger Room. Almost all of that wall and most of the ceiling around it had been blasted away, creating a very large skylight.

"Professor," began Celeste, "what was the maximum force the Danger Room could withstand?"

"Quite a bit."

"How much is quite a bit," Joey asked.

The Professor sighed, and spoke softly. "The Danger Room was made to withstand at least the force of an atomic bomb. The maximum it could withstand was approximately that of a hydrogen bomb."

Celeste whistled at hearing what Professor Xavier had said. She looked over the edge, and could not see Jake or Betsy. "Hey where'd Jake an' Betsy go?"

The Professor was concentrating. Finally looking up, he said, "I don't think we should bother them right now."

"Why not," Bobby asked.

"They are in their room," the Professor said. "It would be best if we let them have their privacy."

"Oh," Bobby replied.

Brotherhood of Mutants Headquarters, Unknown Location 

Magneto was sitting in his office. He was disappointed at their newest recruits. The first of them was Serpent, a mutant that had scales all over his body, could inject poison into a person form his teeth, and was incredibly strong. The second was Sludge, who could create a mud-like substance with his hands. It was apparently toxic, and could be made into anything he wanted. The third was a female mutant by the name of Backdraft, who could create fire with her hands. She could also have fire erupt from both her eyes, and mouth. All three had great potential, but all three, were, unfortunately, idiots. None of them were capable of understanding his vision of mutant power. It took true visionaries, he thought, such as himself and Mystique. For what had to have been the hundredth time, he wondered where she was. He knew she must … be near ….

That was when he realized something was wrong with his office. The realization came slowly, ever so slowly. It finally occurred to him. It was something that was so plain to see, but yet was not, for some reason. The desk was not his. It was close, true, but his had only one drawer. This one, he realized had three on one side, and another large one on the other. The desk then slowly became what he knew it to be, the one from his memories. It was then he realized where he was. He was in his mind. And he was not alone.

"This is not Charles' work. Who are you? Show yourselves."

"I'm impressed. Most people would have taken a much longer time to realize they were in a mindscape," said a voice from behind him.

"Who are you," Magneto questioned, as a figure stepped out of the shadows. It was a man clad in some kind of armored suit. Where the eyes would have been was a red visor, and over his mouth was what appeared to be some sort of breathing apparatus. The armor itself was silver in color, and appeared extremely futuristic. Magneto at first tried to pick him up with his magnetism, but seeing that it was futile, he picked his desk up instead, and flung it at his would-be attacker.

"Nice try," the man said, catching the desk easily. "But next time, remember you have no control when a telepath is involved." He threw the desk into the air, disappearing as if it were nothing. Around them, what had been an office became a giant dome of rock, with the powerful mutant strapped to a vertical table attached to the wall.

"I'd like you to meet Maddie," the man said. Out stepped an attractive woman with dark skin, and black eyes. To Magneto's surprise, behind her came Mystique, a distant look in her eyes, and a circlet of metal on her head.

"Ah, the great Mystique," the man said stroking her hair. "She is a true asset." The man pulled the shape-shifter close, his hand wandering over her body. "You see, I've always had a weakness for the flesh." He looked up at Magneto. "With her around, I don't need any other … toys."

"Boss?" A red-skinned, bull-like man came up behind the armored leader.

"Yeah," he replied.

"We're gettin' ready for the next mission. We're gonna need your help."

"Okay," the armored man said. "Let me have a little fun with her first," he said, his hands exploring her backside. "And if you are able to get the preparations done early, Minos, I'll reward you by letting you do whatever you want to this little trollop here."

"Anything," Minos repeated dreamily. His disgusting mind was already wandering with what he'd like to do with Mystique.

"Oh, and another thing," the armored man said, looking up at Magneto's disgusted face. "You've got an inhibition crown on your head. Even if you could use your powers, it'd cause you a helluva lot of pain."

Westchester, New York 

The X-Men were once again in the War Room. The only ones missing were Jake, Betsy, Logan, and Jean. An hour ago, Jake and Betsy had asked them all to meet in the War Room at this time. But, they were nowhere to be seen. Rogue was beginning to get angry when Jake, Betsy, and Jean entered the room. Logan, for some reason or another, was not present.

"We have some things to discuss," Jake said. "It's about Logan."

"What about Wolvie," Jubilee asked.

"They know Logan's past. That's where we have been for the last hour. They were jogging his memory. He wants me to tell you guys what they told us," Jean said.


	6. A History Lesson

The Protector Saga, Part I

A New Beginning

A History Lesson

"Before I begin, I would just like to say that Logan had not remembered all, or even most of his life," Jean began. "He has only remembered what seems to have to do with what we are now dealing with.

"Logan," she said, "was born in the year 1605 in what is now southwestern British Columbia."

"1605," Hank repeated, incredulously. That would mean Logan was nearly four hundred years old. Incredible, thought Hank. The number of historical events that he must have lived through was unbelievable. He was born before the publication of _Don Quixote_, and before the deaths of its author, Miguel Cervantes, and William Shakespeare. He was even born before Jamestown was established. Logan would have lived through the Salem witch trials, as well as the first Thanksgiving. He had also lived through the French and Indian War (Seven Years War), the American Revolution, and the English and American Civil Wars. In short, he had lived through almost all of the recorded history of the American continents. Hank's thoughts were interrupted as Jean continued.

"His grandfather was named Diego Cebrada del Sol and was the captain of a Spanish galleon that was shipwrecked off of the North Carolina coast. He was the only survivor. He was able to get ashore and head inland, where he happened upon a small tribe of Catawba. He married the chief's only daughter and soon had two sons: Miguel, and his younger brother, Antonio. Miguel's mother named him Running Wolf, and his brother Seeing Eagle. When Running Wolf was fifteen, and his brother five, their father died of a strange disease that wiped out many of their people.

"After their father's death, Running Wolf was named tribal chief. It would be ten years before Logan's mother arrived in the New World. Her name was Catherine Elizabeth Black, the daughter of a wealthy English merchant. She went to the colony of Roanoke with her fiancé, Thomas Ringworn. He had gone there as a favor to his father's friend, Sir Walter Raleigh, who was sponsoring the colony. Less than a week before they were to be married, some unknown creatures massacred the people of Roanoke. Catherine was the only one to leave the island alive. Somehow, she made her way to the mainland, where she eventually encountered the small Catawba tribe.

"They nursed her back to health after she had collapsed at their feet of exhaustion. When they found out about the creatures, it was decided that for the safety of all that were involved, they would have to move north. These creatures apparently did not like cold weather. They arrived in British Columbia, where Running Wolf and Catherine were married. They had five girls before finally having a boy: Logan. His father named him Little Bear, while his mother named him Logan Francis Black."

Jean continued. "Logan's senses began to increase their sensitivity when he was thirteen. It was also around this time that Logan discovered his healing factor, as well. It, however, did not seem to affect his aging until about the age of twenty."

"Okay, but when did Wolvie know about his claws," Jubilee asked.

"I'm getting there," Jean answered. "When Logan was about sixteen, he and his father were hunting a long ways away from their camp. As it happened, they came upon a large clearing."

**Southwestern British Columbia, 1621**

The young man who would later become an X-Man walked carefully, without any sound, through the brush. Beside him was his father, who, in the opinion of Logan, was making far too much noise. But he didn't know that; he couldn't hear as well as Logan. As it was, though, his father was the second stealthiest person in their tribe, next to Logan.

Though all of them had heard of Logan's abilities, not all of them had seen them. When his abilities were first discovered, he was taken to his uncle, who pronounced it was a gift from the Great Spirit. Those warriors that had fought with him in battle had marveled at how his body knitted itself back together. It was their consensus, and that of his uncle, that he would someday become one of the greatest warriors of their people. But, despite his abilities, and their advantages, there were those that resented him for being different. Chief among them was Lame Wolf, his rival in everything, who believed that his differences would only spout evil. At least, thought Logan, Light Fox thought highly of him. They were in love, and would probably marry in a couple of years, after Logan had acquired more wealth. The only problem was that Lame Wolf seemed to be interested in her as well. In the end, she and Logan would probably be together, but Lame Wolf was devilishly crafty. He had been able pin the blame on Logan for any number of things.

Logan turned back to the hunt at hand. He had tracked a doe into this clearing. Now, though, he could not see it, and he couldn't smell it, either. It must be downwind from us, he thought. He stepped further out into the open area, where he heard a crunching sound coming from his left. He signaled to his father, and they began to make their way towards the sound. Despite Logan's better senses, his father led the way. They came upon some light brush, where there appeared to be a few bloodstains. It was deer blood; more specifically, it was the doe's.

The crunching sound continued from beyond the brush in front of them. Running Wolf signaled to his son that he would investigate the sound. Fearlessly, the tribal leader crouched and slowly moved towards the sound. Logan saw his father disappear into the foliage with an odd, disconcerting feeling. Suddenly, the wind shifted, and both he and his father were upwind from whatever it was that was beyond the greenery. Whatever it was could easily smell Logan, and could possibly smell Running Wolf. Suddenly, Running Wolf came sprinting out of the flora, followed by a large, growling mass of brown fur.

It was a bear, but not just any bear. It was a gigantic grizzly, and, judging by its smell, it was rabid. Running Wolf fell to the ground, the bear overtaking him. It began to maul him, tearing his flesh easily. In moments, his body was torn to shreds. Four large claw marks ran from his shoulder to his lower abdomen, destroying the muscle, and damaging the tender organs. His left arm was crushed; his right in so much pain that he could not move it. And still the bear continued.

Logan was in shock. He could not believe what was happening. A bear with white saliva foaming out of its mouth was killing his father. Suddenly, he felt his anger begin to rise. His mind was losing its touch with reality. His blood began to boil, and his instincts began to take over. It was the first emergence of what would later be known as the berserker rage. Suddenly he felt sharp pains from his hands. Detachedly, he noticed that three bone claws were protruding from each hand. Without knowing what he was doing, he began to growl. It came from deep within his chest, sounding more like an animal than he could ever imagine. He was challenging the bear.

The rabid omnivore turned around, hearing a challenge. The creature smelled like a man, but it definitely had the smell of the wild to it. But the enraged bear did not notice this as its mind had long since been shot to shit. It was crazy, without any fear whatsoever. It rose up on its back legs, bringing itself to its full height of nine feet, and answered Logan's challenge. The two wild animals began their mortal combat. It was inevitable that Logan would win; there was no way the bear could kill him.

The bear swiped a large paw at Logan, who ducked, and stabbed his right three claws deep into the bear's viscera. Howling with rage, it brought its large mouth down on Logan's shoulder, crushing his shoulder blade. Somehow ignoring the pain, the young man used all his strength to push both him and the unbalanced bear to the ground. Using the leverage of his position, Logan's right hand, the claws still deep in the insides of the bear, cut through the hide of the great beast until the claws were in the remains of the bear's brain matter.

* * *

"So that's how Wolvie learned about his claws?"

"Yes," Jean answered.

"What happened to his father," Joey asked.

"He died where he fell. But before he died, he told Logan that he was his successor. When Logan returned to his home, carrying his father's body, another dispute rose between Logan and Lame Wolf. Lame Wolf had, at one time, been married to one of Logan's older sisters. She died, though, taking him out of the possibility of being the leader of the tribe. Lame Wolf claimed he had the right as he was once married to Running Wolf's daughter, and was older than Logan. Thus he should have been the chief of the tribe.

"This argument came to a head a couple of days later when Lame Wolf challenged Logan to determine the next chief. Lame Wolf, though, did not have the backing of the rest of the tribe, or the elders. They saw Logan as the chief. Furious with the entire tribe, Lame Wolf was able to persuade his brother, Sleeps in the Rain, to help him get his revenge." She paused, and sighed. "Lame Wolf and Sleeps in the Rain killed Logan's eldest sister, Lame Wolf's former wife. When Logan discovered who had killed her, he was able to organize a war party of his other brother-in-laws to kill both Lame Wolf and Sleeps in the Rain. They caught up with the brothers less than a week later. Lame Wolf escaped to parts unknown, but Sleeps in the Rain was killed, and mutilated. If not for his brother-in-laws, Logan would have followed Lame Wolf. They were able to convince him it was his duty to lead the tribe. So, they gave up the chase."

"Why did they mutilate him," Kurt asked. "Was it part of the revenge?"

"No." Joey answered for Jean. "It was believed that you went into the afterlife the way you left your body in the physical world. So, during a battle, Indians would cut off their enemies' heads, ears, lips, or whatever, so they'd remain like that for eternity."

"When Logan returned, his mother and uncle spoke with him, and his sisters," Jean said. "They told the siblings the story of their mother's escape from Roanoke Island, the site of a brutal massacre."

"Roanoke," Hank repeated pensively.

"I've never heard of it," Celeste spoke up.

"Roanoke was the site of one of the most enigmatic mysteries in North America," Jean said. "An entire village disappeared, almost as if everyone just up and walked away." Jean paused once again, collecting her thoughts. "But, as I was saying, the two told the sibling of a brutal massacre. During the narration, they explained that their mother's entire village was destroyed by creatures that looked as men, but had eyes of brimstone, and who were able change the shape of their limbs into weapons."

"Sounds like the things you and Logan were describing," Scott said.

"Not the same, but I'm willing to bet they are close," Jean replied.

"What ever happened to this Lame Wolf," Bishop asked.

"He vowed revenge on Logan and the tribe. Five years after his banishment, Lame Wolf returned with a new friend. Together, they destroyed the entire camp. When Logan returned home, he found all of his family dead. His wife, Light Fox, was raped to death, and everyone else brutally slaughtered. Logan followed the both of them. He finally caught up to them, and killed Lame Wolf easily. The other one was to become his most hated nemesis. Sabretooth. It was the beginning of their hatred of each other."

"What happened to Logan after that, Jean," the Professor asked.

"Well, he fought in the American Revolution for the Continental Army, where even the Hessian mercenaries were scared of his reputation. He served in the American Civil War, where he was a Union soldier stationed with a regiment from Kansas. Because the state was one of the major starting points for the war, Logan saw a lot of battle during that time. However, the most important thing happened earlier, around 1839 or 1840.

"About this time, Logan was living in a small town in Mississippi, where he was the town blacksmith. About eighteen forty, a young woman named Anne McCormick moved to town with her family, where her father was going to open a general store. From what I heard about her, she apparently looked quite a bit like me.

"In any event, she first saw Logan when she was courting a man by the name of William Sorten, a plantation owner from across the river. She and William were having a picnic down by the river that ran past their town. Logan had also been by the river, though he had gone down to swim and take a bath. Logan came out of the water, nude, less than fifty feet from where the two were having their picnic. He dressed himself in his pants. Then, he walked to within ten feet of them, barefoot and bare-chested, where he sat down, and proceeded to smoke a cigar."

**Mississippi, 1840**

William could not believe the nerve of the blacksmith, Logan. He had come out of the water totally naked, only pulled a pair of pants on, and then strolled over to where he and Anne were having a picnic. Then, to top it all off, he sat down and began smoking. The man was a scoundrel and a ruffian, and had no business interrupting their afternoon. He was determined to get the lowly blacksmith away from them as soon as possible. He signaled for Anne to stay where she was, and made his way towards Logan.

"Excuse me," William said. The blacksmith didn't answer. William stepped closer. "Excuse me." The blacksmith still did not answer. Angry, William turned the shorter man around, and said, "Now listen here, you ruffian." William found himself staring into intense, unblinking eyes.

"I heard ya the first time. Whaddaya want," the man asked gruffly.

"I want to know if you are going to move."

"Nope. I ain't gonna move."

"But we were here first. I was enjoying a picnic with this lovely woman on this great summer's day at my favorite spot, until you came along."

The man puffed on his cigar a couple of times before answering him. "It ain't yer spot, bub. Anyone can sit here. 'Sides, my shirt's in the tree next to ya."

William, his face red, and his eyes filled with a mad fury, looked at Logan with contempt. "I've wasted almost two years in trying to bed this little trollop. She is almost ready to spread her legs, and I will not let an uncouth, ill-mannered, uncultured blacksmith stop me." William finished, his voice sounding more and more like a strangling chicken. "Are you going to move, or do I have to use force, you ruffian," he whispered fiercely. His voice was now soprano, and almost hysterical.

"Force," Logan repeated, and snorted in contempt.

"I'm warning you, or else." William stepped closer, staring down the blacksmith.

"Or else, what," Logan asked, on his feet in a split-second. Suddenly, William found himself staring into brown eyes full of pain, sorrow, and, above all, an animalistic ferocity, trying to break through its human bindings to convey itself in a primal fury. The hardness and anger in the man's eyes were enough to terrify even the most weathered of mountain men. William began to take a step back, and was surprised to find Anne standing beside him.

"William," she said, "why don't you invite your new friend to picnic with us."

"Why," William asked, wide-eyed.

"Because it becomes ever so boring always talking about your plantation and your business"

"You always liked talking about my business, Anne."

"No, William, you like to talk about your business," she said tersely. "I do not. Besides, sometimes it is good for a break from the ordinary." With that, she grabbed one of the hands of each of them, and dragged them back to the picnic blanket. She sat them down opposite each other, and was the only reason that William was still breathing.

"So, Mr. Black, where are you from," she asked, as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Call me Logan … darlin'. I'm from Canada. North and west of here." At the word "darlin'", William tensed markedly. He glanced at Logan, jealousy gleaming from his eyes.

"Really? I've never met anyone from Canada before," she said. "What's it like in the winter?"

"A lot colder than it is here. The snow can get over yer head pretty easy."

"I'm from Boston, originally," Anne said. "My father was born in Ireland, and moved here when he was about twenty. Then a few months ago, he decided we should move southwest, and we ended up here in Mississippi. He's the one that opened the general store on Main Street."

"Been in there a couple o' times. Ain't nothin' I really need in there though. But it ain't that bad of a store, if ya ask me," Logan said, still smoking his cigar and glancing at William warily.

"Why, thank you Mr. Bla-," she began. "Logan." She reached into the basket she had beside her, and pulled out something wrapped in checkered cloth. "Would you like some pie, Logan? It was baked fresh this morning."

"I'd be much obliged, Annie."

William had been watching their conversation with an ever-increasing anger. He had known this man for barely ten minutes, and he already hated him. He was sitting with him and Anne on their picnic, which was supposed to be private. What was even worse was that the man was smoking a cigar, was barefoot, and had no shirt on at all. But, yet, here he was enjoying a piece of the peach pie that Anne's mother had made just that morning. And, to make things even worse, it seemed that Anne liked him a lot. What could she see in him, he thought. He's rough, animalistic, uncultured, and full of himself. Finally, he couldn't take anymore.

"Anne, I have to get back to my plantation. Do you want me to bring you back home?"

"No," she answered, "I think I can have Logan here walk me home."

"Very well, then," William said stiffly, and walked away.

"If you don't mind me saying, I never liked William" Anne said. "He has always seemed rather … unstable."

* * *

"That was how Logan and Anne first met," Jean said. "Less than a year later, they were married."

"How long were they together," Rogue asked.

"They only lasted about two years. That was when Anne was killed."

"She was killed? Was it Sabretooth," Bobby asked.

"No. It was William."

"You mean the man that confronted Logan," Ororo asked.

"Yes. Several weeks before Anne's death, Logan prevented William from beating a young slave. The young boy fell when he was carrying too much weight on his back. He collapsed, spilling the contents of the basket. As William's arm descended, Logan's took the place of the boy, leaving a very bad mark on his left arm."

**Mississippi, 1842**

Logan's arm was in the way of William's whip in a matter of seconds. It hit Logan's arm with a loud thwap, and wrapped itself around until it was nearly cutting off his circulation. Logan snatched the rest of the length of the leather weapon from William, and holding it in his hands, slowly unwrapped it. He noticed two things: the first that the whip was made of excellent leather, and the second being that it had small pieces of metal sticking through the surface. It was extremely dangerous. Finished unwrapping the whip from his arm, Logan threw an angry look at William. Then, without warning, Logan cracked the whip across William's face, leaving a scar that would be there until he died.

"It don't feel too good, does it bub," Logan asked. His voice and face were all that took the people around to realize he was trying to keep a control on his anger. Logan began to walk away, and William yelled back at him that Logan would regret having ever met him. "You'll regret this, you damn savage. Do you hear me? You'll regret this!" William's face was so red it looked like a beet. He continued to swear at Logan as he was walking away, putting himself into a psychotic rage. "You'll be sorry," William said in an eerily soft voice.

Logan caught all of this, but pretended not to notice. He knew that tone of voice. William was insane with anger; he wasn't used to people standing up to him. It made him into an incredibly dangerous man. Logan smiled to himself. But, he doesn't know how dangerous I can be. Only Annie knows about my claws, and about my temper. He smiled again. If William got too close, he would show him why he was so dangerous.

Logan went into his home, and found Anne beginning to cook dinner. He put his arms around her in a strong embrace, and kissed her passionately, until they were both gasping for breath. "What was that for," she asked.

"You know," he said, smiling devilishly. He playfully growled at her, and picked her up, taking her to their bedroom. "Hey, hey, I'm just starting dinner," she giggled.

"Dinner can wait", he said, throwing her onto the bed. He crawled on top of her, kissed her, and growled. "Don't you have another dress just like this one," he asked. She nodded, trying to get a hold of his lips. He smiled, and she heard the unmistakable sound of one of his claws unsheathing.

"Every time you do this Logan," Anne said, "you have to go out and get me a new dress." She had picked up the remains of her dress from the floor and was now holding it up so he could see all the damage he did to it.

"I know darlin', but it takes too damn long to take it off." He smiled slyly, and looked up to her. "Ya should get one that just pulls off."

"Would that stop you from cutting my dresses up," she asked, putting a plate in front of him.

"Probably not."

"I didn't think so, Logan dearest." He began to eat, but after a moment, looked up thoughtfully.

"Ya know, I saw William today."

A long silence followed. "And how is he," Anne finally asked stiffly.

"Angry," Logan answered. After a moment he added, "He was trying ta beat a slave boy today. The whip he had had metal blades in it. I stopped 'im, an' hit 'im with it ta see how he liked it."

"Logan," Anne said, "you really ought not have done that." She put a hand on his. "He's had a grudge against you since you and I married. This is just what he is looking for to get back at you."

"'And the fact that he's got that judge friend o' his don't help."

"No it doesn't." Anne looked down at the table, suddenly downcast. She knew Logan had been in bad situations before, but William was scary. Since the wedding, he had become increasingly violent towards the both of them. He had once tried to drag her off with him. Logan had nearly killed him then. Lord knows, she thought, he's killed for far less. She was lucky enough to get Logan to see that William had been drunk at the time. She knew that if William were to try anything against her ever again, Logan would fully lose his temper. She'd never seen it, but from the way Logan described it, it was something to be avoided at all costs. Her thoughts were interrupted by Logan's baritone voice.

"If he tries anything, darlin', I want you to go to that cabin I showed you up in the woods. You remember the one, right?"

"Yes, Logan, I remember it," she said, a pang of fear traveling up her spine.

"I'll get out of whatever it is they put me in, and I'll find you. Then we can go north; up to Michigan or Canada if you like."

"Okay," she said.

Logan was shooing a horse when Sheriff Clipton came. The horse was a beautiful Arabian stallion from John McCabe's plantation, just a few miles away from William's. He was only half way done when the Sheriff came by. Logan nodded to Joshua to finish shooing the horse. If he was taken by the sheriff, the boy would go tell Annie, and she would get to the cabin in the woods.

"Logan, I heard you had a confrontation with William Sorten the other day." They walked outside, into the warm afternoon.

"Yep. He was tryin' ta whip a kid who was carryin' too much."

"The kid was the son of one of his slaves. He's William's property. He can do whatever he wants to that kid."

"Yeah, I know. So is that it? I'm kinda busy."

"Logan, you know that's not it. You hit him with his own whip. I'm gonna have to put you under arrest. I'd appreciate it if you were to come peacefully."

"Yeah, I'll come peacefully, Roy. Just let me go tell Joshua."

"Okay." Sheriff Clipton waited several minutes before Logan returned. He sighed heavily. He would not admit it to many people, but deep down, he was scared of the blacksmith. The man had come to town only five years earlier, just after he'd been appointed sheriff. Roy Clipton had known rough men all his life. His father had been in the War of 1812. His uncle fought the Seminole in Florida. He was used to rough men, and knew what they looked like. When he saw the blacksmith for the first time, he knew he was rough.

His observation was proven over a year earlier, just after he'd married the McCormick girl. There had been a small number of soldiers in the area, and Logan had been the only blacksmith. A few of them came into town, needing to re-shoe their horses. Of course, they raised a ruckus, already drunk on whiskey when they arrived. One of the soldiers apparently thought it would be funny to try to spook their horses by shooting at them. He, unfortunately, killed Logan's favorite horse. The blacksmith had come out of his shop, an angry look on his face. He'd asked how the soldiers were going to pay for his horse. The soldiers had responded that they had the authority to do whatever they wished, and that he had to put up with anything they did.

It was unwise. Clipton wouldn't have believed what happened next if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. With a single, fluid movement, Logan yanked the soldier off his horse, to the ground, and broke his arm. Then, the blacksmith had broken the man's nose, leaving it a pulpy mess. The rest of the soldiers had come at the blacksmith then, all at the same time. All the soldiers survived, but most would have at the very least limps for the rest of their lives. But, it was the first soldier that got the worst beating. When Clipton saw the boy, he nearly lost his lunch. His eye had swollen up, and looked to be ready to pop. His jaw was at an awkward angle, and one arm and both of his legs were broken.

The next day, Colonel Bradham, the leader of this poor bunch of men, came into to town to have Logan arrested. The man was so fat, he nearly blocked out the son at midday, and had a sweaty, pale complexion. Clipton detested the portly, worthless man. He wouldn't hear of this pompous horse's ass taking away the town's blacksmith. Clipton had told Bradham to arrest Logan himself. The soldiers had been tearing up town for three months, drinking into oblivion every night, and shooting at anything that passed them in the day. The entire town had had enough of them. Logan, by all accounts, was a hero in the small town.

The Colonel had done just as Clipton had told him … or at least tried. The sheriff had seen the man go into Logan's house to arrest him. Not five minutes later, he came out, his face stricken, and pale, and a stream of piss running down his pants, and onto the ground. As the man had gotten on his horse, he was blubbering, and missed the stirrup twice, before finally getting on the horse. Whatever he'd seen in the house had terrified him to death. And, and scared him enough that the next day, he and his men marched away from town, never to come back again.

Sheriff Clipton was roused from his reverie as Logan walked outside. The sheriff sighed, and relaxed; Logan was going to come easily. That was good. After the affair with the colonel, rumors had spread about the blacksmith. Foremost of these was that he was raised by wolves in the wild, and that he could kill a man with only the flick of a wrist. He personally didn't know, and didn't really want to know.

As they arrived at the jail, Sheriff Clipton was surprised to see Judge Frasier sitting behind his desk. "Judge, how are you," Sheriff Clipton asked.

"I'm doing just fine, Roy, yourself?"

"Not bad, Your Honor. What can I help you with?"

"We have time for another hearing today. Is the man you have in custody ready?"

"I don't know, but I just picked him up."

"Good. Have him in my courtroom in one hour."

The hearing barely lasted five minutes. When he arrived, Logan saw that he would not get a fair trial. Judge Malcolm Frasier, as was his bad luck, was in the pocket of William Sorten. The Judge looked the other way as William, for all intents and purposes, ran the town. In return, Frasier was paid handsomely, already the second richest man in the county. So, it wasn't a surprise when he saw William Sorten in the courthouse.

That was when Judge Frasier walked into the courtroom, dressed in his black robe. He addressed William. "Tell me what happened."

"I was teaching a slave how not to carry a basket when Mr. Black took my whip from me and proceeded to lash me across the face." William's voice dripped vehemence. He turned to look at Logan knowingly, a sadistic smile on his face. "He apparently wanted the boy for his own amusement."

"What have you to say to this," Frasier asked.

Logan's eyes burned into William's, his lips pulled back into a snarl, exposing his gritted teeth. A silent contest of wills began, neither willing to back down, neither willing to drop his eyes. It was a contest William could never win. Logan kept staring at the man, his eyes exuding primeval malice, a feral strength that cowed the other man, finally turning his head to look at the plaintiff's table before him. "MR. BLACK!" Judge Frasier yelled. "You will answer the question or be fined in contempt!"

"I hit him across the face with 'is whip," Logan said. "No one should be treated like property."

"Very well," Judge Frasier said contemptuously. "I hereby strip you of your rights. You are sentenced to work Mr. Sorten's plantation until such time as he sees fit to relieve you of duties, or until you expire. Case dismissed."

Before Logan could protest the case, he felt a sudden, heavy pain at the back of his head, and he fell forward, darkness washing over his vision.

When Logan woke up, he was laying down on a small, dirty cot. He tried to sit up, but stopped when he realized his wrists and ankles were manacled. Finally, despite the iron shackles on his limbs, he was able to sit. Once he did, the smell of old sweat and stale blood assailing his sensitive nose. He was in a hut, barely ten feet in either direction. Yet, there were maybe seven or eight beds in the small area. Each one, like his, was incredibly dirty, looking as if they had not been washed in ten years or more. He also noticed the old smell of urine somewhere on one of the beds.

His eyes were suddenly struck by light as the door to the shack opened. In stepped an elderly looking black man, with an old straw hat, and dirty overalls. "My name is Ezekiel. Everyone jus' calls me Zeke, though. So, I s'pose you can call me that too." He held his hand out.

"Logan," the future X-Man said, shaking the younger man's hand. "Where am I, an' how'd I get here?"

"You're in bunk one on the Sorten plantation. I'm one of yer bunkmates, and there're a few others. Most of them you'll get to meet tonight, but right now, they're all picking cotton out on the east side of the land. You're s'posed ta go out there right when you wake up. Since you're awake now, I guess you're going to have to go out and work like the rest of us."

"You gotta key?"

"Sorry," the old man said, leading Logan outside the hut. "Only the Master has the key. Don't matter, though. Word is dey never gon' set you free." Logan followed the old slave into the cotton fields. What he saw there nearly made him sick. Men, women, and children were busy at picking the cotton from the small bushes, putting the white fluff in heavy burlap bags. To his left, he saw a man whose horse he'd shooed not two days ago. Thomas Hurley was a short man, whose stature equaled his brains. Hurley was lashing at random people with the whip in his left hand, solely to try to satisfy his own vicious needs.

"Well lookey here," Hurley said, noticing Logan next to the old slave. He walked towards the pair, with a sadistic smile of blackened teeth. "Well look at this. It's the blacksmith that attacked Mr. Sorten."

Logan glared at the man. He clenched his fists, feeling his claws almost itching to unleash. And in his mind's eye, he could see blood flowing over the white bone, like a river of crimson. He could feel the wonderful heat on his arms, the all-consuming metal smell of blood in his nostrils. He could hear the crimson river of life spilling on the ground, the battle rage that overcame him ….

No, he thought. I don't want to be an animal. He forced the thought away, his mind coming back to the present. He looked back up to Thomas, and, unfortunately, caught a whiff of the man's breath; his teeth were rotting in their sockets. Forcing himself to ignore the smell, he asked, "What do you want?"

"I want to see your beaten, ugly face starin' up at me with tears in your eyes, beggin' fer mercy," Thomas said, a sneer on his face.

"It'll never happen," Logan said confidently. His stare was boring into the man now, his eyes smoldering.

"It'll happen," Thomas said, playing his whip in slow, undulating waves. "It'll happen if I have to beat you to death's door myself."

"That how you have your jollies," Logan asked, smiling defiantly. The wind changed course then, just enough so Logan could catch another scent from the cowardly man. He looked at Thomas knowingly. "Or do you just fool little boys into sharing your bed?"

Thomas stood staring at Logan as if he'd just been struck by lightning. Slowly, ever so slowly, the shock was replaced by anger, and suddenly Thomas lashed out with his whip, catching Logan on his right side, just above his hip. But, instead of hearing the man's cry of pain, Thomas only heard a sudden, feral growl.

Logan, his lips pulled back in a snarl, walked forward, growling. He made sure the whip lash he'd received couldn't be seen by Thomas; the last thing he wanted was to be labeled a freak … or something worse. "Go," Logan said low and menacingly. "Run."

The sound of the man's voice was enough for Thomas to know to do what he said. Thomas backed away from the smaller man, never letting his eyes leave his face, for fear of being attacked. When he was out of sight of the blacksmith, and the slaves, he ran back towards the main house, nearly stumbling every step of the way. As he neared the house, though, his fear began dissipating, and he began forming a plan. He knew how much Mr. Sorten hated the blacksmith. All he had to say was that he'd nearly been attacked, and that the man was dangerous, and needed to be put in his place. Thomas smiled his dirty grin. This would be interesting.

"That wasn't very smart," Ezekiel said. "He'll be back. An' he'll have you whipped fo' sure."

Logan followed Ezekiel further into the cotton fields, angrily contemplating a plan of escape. He didn't know if his claws would be able to cut through the chains. But, he decided, he had to at least try. And once he was free, he would decide how he'd get his revenge. He knew that Frasier was in on his quick sentence. He knew Sorten had paid him off. But, he wasn't quite sure about Clipton. No, he finally decided, the sheriff was a decent man. He wouldn't have been in on the scheme. So, now he had two people to get his revenge upon. But, he realized, he had to get to Annie; let her know he was alright. That was foremost on his mind: escape to find Annie. Revenge could wait; after all, he had all the time in the world.

It was while he was contemplating what he would do after he escaped, that he saw Thomas return. Behind him were almost twenty men, all carrying rifles. "Blacksmith," Thomas said, "Mr. Sorten would like a word with you."

"I ain't interested," Logan spat back.

"You ain't got a choice," Thomas replied. He motioned to the other men, who raised their rifles, all pointing at Logan.

"It'll take more than that to stop me, bub," Logan said, unfettered by the show of aggression.

"The guns aren't for you," Thomas said. He pulled a young girl from behind one of the men, and held a pistol to her head. "It's for them."

Seeing no other choice, Logan said, "I'll come with you. Just don't hurt the kid." He walked forward, into the ranks of the men with the rifles. As they walked, they surrounded him, making him the very center of a dangerous circle. But, before they had gotten far, he smelled a change their scents from one of confidence, to one of nervousness. Then, before he knew what was going on, he was hit on the back of the head with the stock of a rifle. Before blacking out, the last thing he saw was the smiling face of that bastard Thomas.

When he awoke, he found himself chained at a 45º angle. His arms were bound to a pair of old, wooden poles, while his ankles were bound to stakes in the ground. He looked up to see William Sorten swaggering towards him, dressed to the nines. "Well, hello Logan," William said cheerily. "I suppose you wonder what we are going to do to you."

"Yer gonna try ta kill me."

"No," William said. "I plan to succeed in killing you."

"Go ahead," Logan dared. "Worse men've tried, and better men have failed."

"We shall see," William replied smugly. He signaled to two men, each holding long, evil-looking whips. "Two hundred lashes, Logan." William smiled dangerously. "Most men die before they see one hundred. Two hundred will kill nearly anything. I must admit I am curious: how many can you endure, Mr. Black?"

At that, Logan felt the white-hot pain of the alternating whips as they tore into the skin of his back. The sound of the whiplashes filled the afternoon, as the smell of his own blood overwhelmed his nose. But, despite the pain, despite the rivulets of blood running down his back to the ground, Logan willed himself not to cry out. He would not give William the satisfaction. Instead, he let the pain fuel his rage. It was the rage – the all-encompassing, blood-drenched, beast within him – that kept him alive. It pumped adrenaline into his system, sending incomparably powerful endorphins into his system. He felt no pain, only the caged animal that was his id breaking down the walls of its prison, wanting to sate its unrivaled bloodlust. His eyes stared at William, not as a man, but as his prey. They reflected not the man known as Logan, but the unbridled killing machine known simply as the Wolverine.

The last thought he had before he lost both his mind, and his consciousness, was that he was going to kill William. He was going to torture him, and keep him alive so that he could feel all the pain. Logan smiled dangerously to himself. He was going to make the fucking son of a bitch pay for what he did to him.

"Sir," the man with the whip said hesitantly.

"What," William asked, already going inside. He turned around, looking at Logan's body on the ground, in a puddle of blood.

"I don't know how it's possible, but …"

"But, what?"

"He's still alive, sir." He pointed at the blacksmith's chest. Sure enough, William saw that Logan was still breathing, albeit shallowly. Angered at not being able to dispose of the man, he ordered Logan be placed back in the slave house.

Logan awoke with a start. The last thing he remembered was being whipped by Sorten's lackeys. Then, he remembered the anger. It was still bubbling inside him, like a pool of magma beneath an active volcano. He moved ever so slightly, and winced. His back was still healing. He turned his head from the wall, and to his surprise, saw the old man, Ezekiel, watching him intently.

"You ain't exactly human," the old slave stated. He had an old pipe planted firmly between his teeth, a small puff of smoking appearing every now and then. For a moment, Logan thought he would have to say something. But, he was relieved when Ezekiel spoke again. "The way I see it is you ain't no demon. A demon wouldn't a been in this kinda mess." The old man paused. "An' I don' think you're an angel, either. So, my question is: what are you?"

"I ain't too sure myself," Logan said, as he wearily sat up. He could feel the wounds on his back knitting together, itching as it did, the feeling like an entire army of ants dancing on his backside. He looked at Ezekiel, sizing him up. "I'll tell you what I know if ya can get me some grub."

Ezekiel looked at Logan appraisingly, his pipe bobbing up and down as his teeth played with it. "Matthew," he called. A boy of about twelve came into the cabin. "Go to the kitchen, and get this man some leftovers from supper, if there are any." The old man turned around towards Logan, and nodded towards him. "Does it help? The food, I mean." Logan nodded, but if Ezekiel hadn't been watching him closely, he'd have never seen it. "'Tain't like nothin' I've ever seen."

The boy came back then, carrying an old, metal plate filled to the rim with beans and franks, and two heaping pieces of corn bread. "Ol' Mary Belle t'ought this was for you," the boy said, smiling widely. "She still likes you."

"Matthew," Ezekiel said, "me an' this man here have some things to talk about. Leave us be for the moment, and go listen to the music outside."

Logan watched the interplay between the old man, and the young boy. The kid obviously respected Ezekiel quite a bit. Logan, too, was beginning to respect the old slave. He was very perceptive. Not many people knew that food would help him heal faster. At first, he was not entirely sure he would tell the old man anything. He changed his mind when he asked about the food. The man would probably come to his own conclusions with or without Logan telling him anything. "I was born over two hundred years ago," Logan said slowly and evenly. "When these abilities showed up, I was taken to my uncle, who was known for his medicine. He told me that I would someday be a great warrior, and that I would lead a great many of the People into a great battle. He said I would do this because I had been touched by the Great Spirit."

The old man seemed to take it in stride. The man was thinking so long, that for a moment Logan thought he had died. He was almost surprised when the man said, "You're gonna break out, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Logan replied. He was wondering if the man in front of him was able to hear his thoughts. "How did you know?"

The old man smiled knowingly. "You got yerself a pretty wife, don't cha? She's out there. You're in here. And you seem to be a man who ain't about to let something happen to him he don't want." Ezekiel looked up at the older man. "I jus' want to know when."

"As soon as I get these damn shackles off," Logan replied. He'd had manacles on before, so it really was not anything new. He pulled at the chains, but they were new, and were not budging. But, the shackles themselves, he noted with satisfaction, were old, and rusted. He smiled to himself. There was one thing the old man had not seen yet. He unsheathed his claws as fast as he could, hoping to surprise the old man. It did, or at least Logan smelled that it did. The old slave, though, kept his poker face. He would have been a good soldier, Logan thought. He applied his bone claws to the metal.

The metal gave, but only a little. If he were to cut it like this, it would take a very, very long time. Instead, he pulled his other hand back, and gritting his teeth, brought his claws down on the metal with all his might. Logan wasn't sure it had worked, until he heard the magical sound of clinking metal. Looking down, he saw that he had cut cleanly through the cuff, and had broken the hinges. Blood was flowing freely from the three, parallel wounds where the manacle had been. But, even as he noticed them, they were healing, the flow of blood already waning.

He went through the same process with the other hand, and suffered through wounding his other arm. Finally, with the manacles on the ground before him, Logan stretched his arms behind him, smiling at the freedom. Next, he focused on the leg irons he wore around his ankles. These shackles were actually loose, and because of that, they would be much easier to remove.

Reaching down, he was able to get one of his claws between his ankle and the manacle. He pressed the bottom side of the bone blade against the manacle, and with a powerful upward thrust, cut the metal in two, the pieces falling to the floor anticlimactically. Finishing with the other manacle, he stood, stretched, and sighed. It was good to have the heavy metal off of him. "Now," Logan said, looking to Ezekiel, "what is this about an escape?"

The old man smiled. "We've been planning it for some time now." He stood up, and fetched a small stick. He began drawing in the dirt. "What we were planning is to take the guards at the west end of the plantation. On that side, there is much less security. The way we see it is that if we go that way, we could get a ferry boat ta take us north, to some free states."

"Won't work," Logan said darkly.

"Why not," Ezekiel asked. He was not offended, but rather intrigued.

"There ain't no ferry boat captain that'll do that. You'd have ta have a lot more money than the local plantation owners." He growled, his lips curled into a snarl. "And there ain't nobody 'round here richer than William Sorten."

"What do you think we should do then," Ezekiel asked.

"Go east," Logan said. "On the east side of this plantation is a forest. It goes north for about thirty or forty miles, before the trees begin to thin out. The lot o' ya could hide there until you decide where, and what ya wanna do."

"Would we have to worry about people north of us?"

"No," Logan said. "There ain't hardly nobody north of us, unless ya get close to a big city."

"I have only one question," the old man said. "What about the guards? They all have guns, and whips."

"Let me worry about them," Logan said, his eyes lighting up dangerously. "I have business at the Sorten house tonight."

Logan stalked his way towards the main house. Though he hadn't seen anyone, he still moved cautiously, a predator stalking his prey. Finally, he was close enough to the house to see that there was light coming from only one of the rooms. It looked as if someone had put all the candles in the house in one single room. Suddenly, to his left, he heard two men talking. Moving closer, he heard the sound of metal striking dirt. For a moment he was confused. Then it occurred to him. They were digging a grave. A slave, he assumed, until the wind changed direction so he was downwind. The first two scents he smelled were male and he didn't think he knew them. The third, though, he knew. It was Annie.

A wave of panic and dread washed over him as he began to walk towards the gravediggers. How did they find her? Hadn't she gone up to that cabin in the woods? These were the things he was wondering as he began to run towards them. He nearly bowled over the first of the men, large and burly with a beard that was just beginning to gray. He had seen Ezekiel talking with the man earlier. He seemed to recall his name to be Simon. The second man was Thomas, the man who he had confronted earlier. Had Logan noticed him, the man would have been dead. But, his attention was what they were holding.

Between them was a body wrapped in what looked like a bed sheet. Its feet were just poking out of one side, and long red hair out of the other. He kneeled beside the body, and unwrapped the sheet. His face turned into disgust at the sight of the body, before his eyes hardening, and his nostrils flaring. It was Anne. But, had it not been for her smell, he wouldn't have known it. Her face was cut up so badly, there was almost nothing to see but blood. From her shoulders to her knees, there was what looked like whiplashes. Her throat was cut; there was still blood on her nude chest running from the gash. That wasn't what held his attention, though. It was her smell. She was raped. But not just by anyone. It was William. He could smell the scent of William's semen on her.

He killed her. He cut her throat. He began to lose control of his rational mind. He could feel it slipping away like sand flowing through fingers. The only thing left was an animalistic rage that wanted only one thing. Kill William. Kill the man that did this. Without even realizing he did it, his claws unsheathed themselves, to the surprise of the two men watching.

Simon signaled to Thomas to move. He had heard that this man was dangerous, but was only now getting the idea of just how dangerous. He began to back up, slowly, less he attract the attention of the man in front of him. He was lucky; he was over twenty feet away when the man finally looked up. But, Thomas, who had always been slow in the head, was too close, much too close. Logan suddenly attacked Thomas with the ferocity of a cornered, rabid wolverine. Simon didn't see much, but he heard more than he wanted. Thomas' screams were incredibly loud, sounding more like a banshee than anything else. Suddenly, his screams stopped, and the only sound was an angry, inhuman growl coming from almost straight ahead of him. Simon turned, and ran for his life, never looking back. He didn't want to look back. Whatever the growl was, it would try to kill him.

Logan's bloodlust was only increased after he killed Thomas. He stalked Simon for a moment, but after the man ran, he focused back on his target: William. He looked to the house, and saw someone's shadow moving. He growled, something that would terrify anyone, and ran towards the house. He went through the kitchen, being ever so silent. He was hunting William; there was no other way to look at it. And Logan always got what he wanted.

William was in his bedroom when he heard the screams. He looked down to the slave girl in his bed, her dark skin a stark contrast to the white silk of his bed sheet. He didn't know what her name was, but he really didn't care too much, just as long as she was a good fuck. Like Anne was. Too bad he had to kill her, he thought. The little cunt had married that insignificant little blacksmith instead of him. How could she do that? He had heard the rumors around that Logan was a mountain man, and that he could kill a bear with his bare hands. Nonsense. But, what Anne said before she died had scared him. No, not scared him; it had terrified him.

* * *

"You don't know who he is, do you," she asked.

"I know exactly who he is," William replied. "He is a lowly blacksmith, who would fuck anything in front of him." Despite his bravado, William was scared. He had never expected that Anne was this … strong. Here she was, he thought, tied to the four corners of my bed, having just been given the gift of my seed, and whipped across her face. And yet, she was still defiant. A thought at the back of his mind told him she would always be that way – she was a wild spirit, who nothing could tame. "He doesn't deserve you."

"You really do not know him." Anne smiled, her face retaining its beauty despite the abuse. "Sun Tzu wrote that if you do not know your enemy, you will not when the war." She laughed, almost hysterically. "Perhaps I should enlighten you. Have you ever wondered why the Indians that sometimes come through here always want to talk with him?"

"I don't pay attention to the ways of savages," William replied.

"Perhaps you should." She smiled once again. It was a smile of someone who knows victory is at hand. "The Indians come to him because they wish to meet the living legend. Indians, you see, respect their elders. And Logan is elder to all the Indians. Those who do not respect him fear him. For you see, they know that to incur his wrath is to invite death itself into their midst. They believe he is touched by the Great Spirit." She smiled wryly. "That is one of his names: Touched by the Spirits. But he has many others. Chief among them are Sees as the Bear, and He That Cannot Die."

"What are you saying," William asked, trying his hardest not to be scared.

She smiled and laughed. And for a moment, William could have sworn he saw her as something else. He swore it had to have been his imagination, but … but the sheets were burned. He could have sworn he saw her not as a woman, but as a massive bird of prey, its entire body alive in a deadly, dancing pyre.

"Logan will kill you," she said. "He'll know what you did to me. And there is nothing you can do to stop him. You can kill him a hundred times over, and he will still take your life. You won't see him coming, and you can't hide from him. Tonight, you will die by my beloved's hands."

* * *

He had slit her throat before she could say anything else. But the way she was saying it had scared him. She had been perfectly calm, as if she cared naught whether she lived or died. Her voice had such conviction, that he had begun to believe it himself. And the flaming bird – that was something he was sure he had to have imagined. He had finally convinced himself he had been delirious, and that she had been playing with him. There was nothing Logan could do to him. He believed this up until he heard the first screams.

He ordered the girl to stay where she was, naked on the bed. He went downstairs to find his rifle. If Logan was going to come for him, he was going to be ready. The candle he had from his room was only lighting up a little of the area in front of him. Unlike his bedroom, where he had concentrated so many candles that there was no place left without light, the rest of his house was almost pitch black at night. Now, he realized, it had been a mistake to try to create a romantic atmosphere with that whore Anne.

William reached his gun cabinet without a problem. Taking his key out of his house-coat pocket, he nearly dropped it. God, why am I so jumpy? The reason is because I have a pissed off Canadian mountain man trying to take my head. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. What would Logan try to do? He was still in the slave house, wasn't he?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud from the dining room. He finally unlocked the cabinet, and pulled out his rifle. He rifled in the drawer underneath the cabinet, and found a box of the rifle's ammo. He loaded the gun, and put the rest of the bullets in his pocket. Gun cocked, he left the den, and walked into the darkness of his house. Damn. He couldn't carry his candle while he was carrying his rifle. He would have to rely on his night vision, which, to his relief, was beginning to adapt. He made his way towards the dining room, where he heard the thud.

He entered the dining room cautiously, trying not to accidentally fire the gun. If he did, he would give off his position. He saw that one of his chairs had been knocked over. He knelt down and gently lifted the chair back on its feet. Once he let go of it, it fell back down. On careful inspection, he saw that two of the legs had been cut off. They were cleanly cut off, like a hot knife through butter. He pricked his finger on something on one of the legs. Taking it out of his finger, he saw that it was a splinter. But it was white. It was a bone splinter. How the hell-

"I'm gonna make ya die real slow, bub. You ain't never felt the amount of pain I'm gonna make you feel."

"Logan, come out here you goddamn coward!"

"I ain't the coward, bub. Yer the one that's scared. An' if you don't put down that gun, yer gonna poke someone's eye out."

William had been following Logan's voice. As Logan finished speaking, he shot. The flash lit up the room. He saw Logan just three feet in front of him as a bullet hit him square in the chest. William heard a loud thud as Logan's body hit the floor. Confident that he had killed Logan, he made his way back to his den to put his gun away. As he went to put the rifle back in its resting place, he heard screams coming from his bedroom. Quickly picking up the candle he came down with, he ran into the dining room. He searched the entire room, and found no trace of Logan's body, save a small pool of blood.

He ran up his stairs to his room. All the candles were out. His bedroom was now as dark as the rest of the house. He made his way to his bed, and found that the slave girl was no longer there. The bed was still warm, though. He began to search the room. The bitch was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he noticed that he didn't have his rifle. He suddenly felt uneasy, as if there was a pressure at the back of his skull. He was being watched. Turning around, he nearly died from shock. There, less than three arm lengths away was the man that had become his nemesis. "L-Logan. H-H-How did you do that?"

"You mean survive a gunshot to the heart? Didn't Annie tell ya? I heal fast. You can't kill me."

"Oh God." William suddenly felt a rush of warmth in the crotch of his pants. He looked down to see a puddle forming around his feet. William began backpedaling towards the window. That was what she was talking about. I can't kill him. There's only one way I'm going to get out of this. He looked towards the window. He looked back in the direction of Logan, and made his decision. Turning towards the window, he broke out into a flat run. He ran right into the window, felt the shards of glass hit him, and the cool night air around him. A sudden, sharp pain sprang forth from his left ankle as his feet left the window. Looking up, he saw something in his leg.

It was a single, bone claw. The claw belonged to a heavily muscled arm, which belonged to a face William didn't want to see. It was Logan. The man had bone claws in his hands. The claw was in his ankle, and had prevented him from falling. As his initial surprise faded away, the pain hit him like a ton of bricks. He screamed, a loud girlish scream. But despite the loudness of his own scream, he heard Logan say one final thing.

"You ain't gettin' away that easy, bub."

Logan pulled William back inside the house, and closed the windows, shutting out the moonlight. Almost immediately, there were loud, tortured screams echoing from the large bedroom. A moment later, a large botch of darkness appeared on the window, as the screams continued.

* * *

In the morning, Sheriff Clipton, after hearing Simon Beaumont's story of some man-animal running loose on the Sorten plantation, decided to investigate. He would enter William Sorten's house, and find his body in his bedroom, blood everywhere. The man's face had been cut off, his arms and legs split down the middle like they were gutted, and all of his innards ripped out of his body.

Clipton covered his face with the bandana he kept in his pocket. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that William Sorten had met the dark side of Logan Black's personality. It reminded him of something his mother once told him. "Everyone has a dark side, something that he or she doesn't want people to see," she had told him. "All's that's different between people is what'll make that dark side surface." It was, he mused, the same dark side that that Colonel Bradham also saw. But, if it was any indication, Bradham hadn't drawn out whatever dwelt in the blacksmith as well as ol' William Sorten. The esteemed colonel had only seen the smallest glimpse.

His reverie was broken when he heard Gabe Potter, his lazy deputy, yelling from outside. At the front door, Sheriff Clipton found Gabe, his pasty face glistening with sweat, trying to catch his breath. By the looks of it, the fool had damn near pushed his horse to death's door. "Sheriff-"

"Get off of your horse, Gabe," Clipton said gently. "Your mare ain't gonna last much longer with you sittin' on her after you raced here."

The paunchy man got off his horse, nearly falling to the ground. "Sheriff," Gabe began again. "The Coopers reported seeing the blacksmith, Logan, on that white stallion of his, Lightning, running towards the Judge's house." Gabe paused. "They said he an' his horse were dressed up in war paint, an' that he was screamin' somethin' terrible." When Clipton didn't seem to respond, Gabe asked, "Well, Sheriff, ain't we gonna go after him?"

"No," the Sheriff responded. "Logan's already killed Judge Frasier. And we ain't gonna go after him 'cause they weren't his victims."

"What," Gabe asked. "Course they were his victims."

"No they weren't," the Sheriff said tersely. "Frasier and Sorten waged war on Logan and Annie. No matter what they did, they would have lost." He neglected to say why. Deep down, though, he thought he knew. Logan was something more than human. But, he would never say it to Gabe. Instead, he said, "They underestimated their enemy."

"Their enemy," Gabe repeated incredulously.

Instead of answering his deputy, Clipton looked back down at the body. What was Logan that he could have done this? What could- The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. He looked down at the body before him, his eyes wide, and his face drawn. Could it be true? He crossed himself in sudden terror. Walking away from the body to regain his composure, he whispered, "Behold a rider upon a pale horse."

* * *

Logan held Annie's dead body in his arms until almost daybreak. He buried her, with a cross with her name etched into it by his own claws. He knelt beside the grave and whispered to her.

"I'm sorry," he said. It was as it had always been; as it would always be. His loved ones would die, but he … he would live on. Not for the first time he wondered why he was chosen to live this long, pitiful life.

He stood up, and looked at the grave one more time. Sighing inwardly, he turned west. He had always wanted to visit the Orient – Japan and China. Maybe now he would; though, he wasn't entirely sure. But, he did know one thing.

It was time to move on.

* * *

"Jeannie," Logan said, abruptly opening the door. "We need ta talk."

"I know," she said. She turned from the window, and sat down on their bed. "I know." She patted the space next to her for him to sit down.


	7. Sinister Intentions

The Protector Saga, Part I

A New Beginning

Sinister Intentions

Celeste had won the T.V. for the night. It had taken them nearly an hour for the team to decide what to watch. Scott had wanted to watch some kind of craft show. Remy and Rogue had wanted to watch some classic movie, or something. Pete and Hank had wanted to watch something about the mating habits of whales. Apparently, whales were known to have large orgies. She didn't even want to think about it. Logan wanted to watch a fight that was being aired again, because he missed it Saturday. Bobby had wanted to watch some kind of cartoon movie where the all the women had exceptionally large breasts and unrealistic hip sizes. But, she and Kurt had wanted to watch their favorite show, "Boston Public". And, with some help from Joey, they had actually been able to achieve their goal.

Watching the show, Joey's mind began to drift. He had been thinking about what his codename should be. Up until now, he really hadn't given it much thought. Well, he thought, I can turn myself into a wolf or a werewolf at will. As a wolf, I can speak telepathically with anyone I want, and as a werewolf, I have great strength and what not. Maybe Lycanthro? Nah, it's too stupid sounding. Werewolf? Wolf? No! I know. Lobo. Yeah, I like that. His thoughts were interrupted as the Professor entered the room.

"Hey, Prof, I think I finally figured out my codename."

_Really?__ What do you want it to be?_

"I was thinking Lobo. An old friend used to call me that."

_Really?__ I hadn't known._ Joey caught the knowing smile the older man gave him. Just how much does he know, Joey pondered. The man seemed to know things without even needing to read minds.

"Very well, then, Joseph. Your name shall be Lobo."

"Thanks, Professor," Joey said, his mind elsewhere.

Logan and Jean came into the room a few minutes later, both looking a little ruffled. Remy looked up, and smiled. He had walked past their room on his way to the rec. room, and had heard more than he wanted.

"Remy be wonderin' when de two o' you get done wit' your movie."

"What're you talkin' about, Gumbo," Logan asked gruffly.

Jean placed her hand lightly on her husband's shoulder. Though small, the gesture had the desired effect. It calmed him down. "Logan is taking me up north tomorrow to help me tone my tracking and hunting skills."

"I thought all that stuff comes naturally," Celeste said, taking her eyes off the T.V.

"It does," Jean explained, "but it helps to have practice."

"Practice makes perfect," Bobby chimed in, forced to watch the show.

"It sure does, don't it, Roberto," Jake said, walking in, imitating some kind of southern accent.

"Why the hell do you keep calling me that?"

"Because it annoys you, and until I decide on a proper payback, it'll have to do."

"What do you want payback for?"

"For the room of ice prank you so eloquently performed yesterday," said Betsy, putting her arms around Jake's waist.

"Do I look like the kind of guy that would play pranks?"

"Do not make anyone answer that inquiry, Robert, as it may very well cause irreparable emotional damage," Hank said, hanging upside down from the reinforced chandelier.

"Thanks a lot, Blue."

"'Twas not a problem."

"Hey, Hank," Jake said, "you wanna come with me and Bets tomorrow to that medieval festival that's going on?"

"Inasmuch as I would take pleasure in eating roasted turkey legs, and watch a jousting contest, I cannot. I just have too many things to do in my lab."

"Well, I guess we're gonna go to sleep then. You know we need our energy for tomorrow," Jake said, winking at Betsy.

"If you two are going to sleep early, my name's Shirley Temple," Bobby said.

"Goodnight Shirley," Betsy said, patting Bobby's shoulder.

"Oww. Did you have to hit me so hard?"

"I didn't hit you hard, you crybaby. Goodnight B-. Goodnight Shirley." An aggravated Iceman grunted loudly, resigning himself to watching the show that he loathed so.

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Jake woke up, and sighed contentedly. On his right, Betsy was still sleeping quite comfortably. She was so peaceful when she was sleeping. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was already ten o'clock. Whoa, he thought. We must have been really tired last night. He smiled devilishly. Kinda makes sense considering all that we did last night. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder ever so slightly. She rolled over almost immediately.

"Morning, love," she said, pulling him close to him, and capturing his lips.

"Good morning, my lovely, sexually insatiable vixen."

"Hmm. Is that what you think of me?"

"But, of course, m'dear," he said, putting his head in her lap. Smiling salaciously, he said, "I kinda like this position, babe."

"You're incorrigible," she said, suddenly standing up. He watched her stand and stretch in her silk pajamas. He smiled. Even in baggy clothes that showed absolutely nothing, she was still incredibly sexy. He looked her up and down, and then got out of bed himself. He stretched, long and slightly painful, wearing only his sleeping pants. He decided it wasn't too late to get breakfast, and starting looking for a shirt to wear downstairs.

"What're you looking for, love," Betsy asked, silently admiring his ass.

"I'm looking for a shirt." He looked around. "Enjoying the view?"

"You know it. Why don't you just go down like that?"

"Because, unlike Logan, I don't really like to be ogled at."

"Who's been ogling you?"

"You know that Melissa kid in the class I'm teaching," he asked, finding the shirt he wore the day before.

"I always thought she was kind of cute."

"Maybe to you. But, me, I can only handle one woman at a time," he said, smiling cockily.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about you finding some masseuse on the side."

"Nope. I'll see you down there, okay?"

"Be right behind you."

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Jake walked into the kitchen and found Bobby reading the comics page of the newspaper. Joey was next to him, reading the sports page. Jake went to the cupboard, and took down a box of cereal. He was about to ask Joey the score of the hockey game the night before, when Bobby spoke up.

"I knew you two weren't going to sleep early," he said, looking up. "I could here the two of you all the way down the hall. You know what that means, don't you?"

"No, what," Jake asked, placing a large bowl of cereal and a large glass of orange juice on the table before sitting down.

"It means that Remy, Rogue, Bishop, Pete, and Kitty all heard you guys not going to sleep."

"Yeah, but they're not going to tell me they were eavesdropping on me," Jake said. He continued eating his cereal for a moment more, before becoming pensive. "I just had an idea." He smiled wickedly, a green light in his eyes matching his smile.

"What'd you just do?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Jake," Bobby said warningly.

"What," he asked innocently.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, when you go to your room."

"What did you do?"

"Go to your room and find out." Jake's eyes lit up devilishly.

Bobby huffed off to his room. Several minutes later, there was a loud scream as Bobby walked into his room.

"What did you put in his room," Joey asked, looking over the paper.

"Oh, nothing. All I did was make his entire room a giant fudge-cicle.."

"That doesn't sound that bad."

"Not until you know that it is already melting."

"Will it turn back?"

"Eventually, and there won't be anything wrong with his stuff. But, freezing my entire room the other day necessitated retribution." With that, Jake walked out of the kitchen.

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Jake and Betsy were watching a jousting competition. They were sitting on a bench made of hay, just outside the small arena. Despite her reservations, Betsy was actually enjoying herself. Right now, a man bearing the name of Sir Rowan of England was facing a knight named Sir Cameron of Gaul. Sir Rowan was bearing a green and white shield, whereas Sir Cameron had a shield with red and gold coloring. The two men charged each other, their lances level with the chest of the other rider. Both of their lances broke as they struck. The force of the blow caused both men to fall off their horses. They both stood up and drew their swords.

One of the actors in the audience, dressed as a peasant, yelled, "Kill him. Spill his blood. Take his head. Blood makes the grass grow. Kill! Kill! Kill!" The two knights approached each other, and began to swordfight. Sir Rowan's sword broke after taking a heavy blow from Sir Cameron. Rowan looked down at his hands, and then put his fists up. He put his hand out, and taunted Sir Cameron to fight him. Cameron shrugged, and placed his sword in the ground. The two of them began to box, moving as fast as could be expected in the armor they were wearing. Suddenly, Sir Cameron was able to get Sir Rowan behind him, and did some kind of wrestling move.

The same peasant yelled, "Ooh. Stone Cold Stunner! That's got to hurt."

Betsy couldn't help but to smile. She had to admit; this was actually a lot more fun than what she had originally thought it would be. She and Jake got up to leave. "You wanna get a turkey drumstick? They're pretty good," Jake said into her ear.

"Sure. Sounds good."

After buying the turkey drumsticks, the two of them went and sat at a picnic table under a large oak tree. They were talking, though, to anyone watching them, it would appear as if they were having a staring contest. Too absorbed in their own world, they didn't see a corpulent, putrid smelling man sit down next to them. They wouldn't have noticed anything, either, if the troll of a man hadn't spoken.

"You know, we don't take to kindly to your kind 'round here," the man said.

Both Jake and Betsy looked up at the man. He was bald, and had a nose sloping off to an odd angle, a sure sign of a previously broken nose. He wore a faded, grime-ridden shirt with what looked like the initials F.O.H. His underarms were wet with sweat, and were giving off an incredibly strong smell. Jake started to breathe through his mouth to try not to gag.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What did you say," Jake asked.

"I said that we don't take kindly to your kind in these parts."

"And what type would that be," Betsy asked angrily.

"You already know the answer to that one. Don't ya, you little mutie cunt?"

"Why don't you just find some other place to sit, man," Jake said. Though his voice was calm, Betsy could see the telltale signs of him getting angry. Jake had a temper, with or without magic. It was just that, unlike Logan, you couldn't see it coming. He could be talking and having fun one moment, and then, a split second later, could snap. It was just a matter of pushing the right buttons. She'd seen it more than once in the Danger Room. And the thing was, he tended to be worse when either her or someone other than him was involved. Usually, there would be little warning signs; not much, but once she knew what to look for, they were always there.

Right now, his hands were underneath the picnic table. She could tell by the movements of his shoulders that his fists were already flexing. He was angry, and gleaming some thoughts from his mind, she could tell he was making himself angrier. She was about to suggest that they move when the man responded.

"'Cause I like this seat, and there ain't anything you or your mutie cunt girlfriend can do about it." Not good. Not good at all, she thought. She was angry, too, of course, but not as mad as Jake. She didn't want to get into any kind of a fight; it'd be over in a second. But that wasn't the point. There was no reason to fight the bastard.

"Man, why don't you either shut the fuck up, or find some other place to sit?"

"Now I ain't gonna move, you little sonuvabitch."

"Then I got a good idea for you. Fuck off!"

"Nah. I got a better idea. Why don't you let me take your girlfriend here and show her a good time? I can lick her pussy up and down, make 'er wet, and then fuck her brains out. How's that for an idea?" The man barely had enough time to finish his last sentence. Jake had picked up the three hundred pound man by the throat, and choke slammed him onto the picnic table. Now, Jake had his hand around the man's throat, and had his own face less than an inch away from the man's.

"If you EVER, and I mean EVER, talk about my girlfriend like that again, I will rip your fucking balls off, and ram them so far down your throat, you won't be able to taste anything but your own jizz for a week. Do you understand me?" Jake pounded the man's head into the picnic table, the man grimacing in pain. "Do you fucking understand me, you goddamn piece of mother-fucking, shit-eating white trash son of a bitch?" The man nodded weakly, his eyes full of terror. Jake pounded the man's head into the table again, and let go of his throat. The man started coughing, trying to breathe normally.

Jake stood up, and looked at Betsy. "You all right," he asked, his voice thick and a little raspy.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Why don't we get ready to go?"

"Okay," Jake said.

"Hey," the man said, "I ain't gonna forget this. I'm gonna get you and your little whore, too!" Betsy turned around, and gave the man a stare colder than ice. The man quieted down immediately.

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"You didn't need to make a scene back there, Jake."

"I really didn't mean to," he replied meekly. He could already tell he would be in for a major ass-chewing. "I just lost control of my temper for a moment … and I guess it got the better of me."

"In this business, Jake," she said, "you have to have to be in control of your emotions. If you let them control you, you will only get your teammates hurt … or worse."

"I know." He looked ahead, never taking his eyes off the road. "I just didn't want him to keep on talking about you like that."

"I understand that, but you have to remember I can take care of myself just as bloody well as you can."

"I know that. I suppose I'm just … compelled to protect the people I'm closest to. I don't know why; I guess its just in my nature." He waited for a response. Not hearing one, he looked over to her, and saw she was looking out the back window.

"Jake, was there a squad car behind us a few moments ago?"

"N-No. I don't think so. Why?"

"There's one behind us now. He appeared out of nowhere."

"Really?" He looked behind them and saw the car speeding up. It was closing the distance between them incredibly fast. As he watched, its lights flashed and its siren blared. "I think he wants me to pull over." The car pulled off to the side of the road, and began to slow down.

"Be careful, Jake. We don't know if they're mutant friendly or not." The cruiser parked behind them, and the two policemen got out of their car. One came up on the left, and the other on the right. The one on the left motioned for Jake to roll down his window.

"What can I do for you officer," he asked, as politely as he could.

"Sir, would you please step out of the vehicle?"

"Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"Just step out of the vehicle, sir. You too, ma'am," he said, gesturing at Betsy.

Betsy stepped out of the car, and saw Jake with his hands on the roof. She did likewise. Without any warning, the officer opposite her pulled out his Billy club, and hit Jake on the back of the head. Before she could say anything, she felt a sharp pain at the base of her neck. Then she saw only blackness.

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**X-Mansion, Westchester**

Jubilee made her way to the rec. room. She found Bobby and Celeste in the midst of a game of pool. Hank was off to the side, a glass of milk in one hand, and several Twinkies in the other. She made her way over to the big, blue doctor. "Can I have one," she asked, pointing to the Twinkies.

"Most assuredly, friend Jubilation," he said, opening his large paw. She took one of Hank's precious golden, crème-filled pastries.

"You know Blue," Bobby said, looking up from his game, "you're the only one that she let's call her Jubilation."

"Popsicle, you might want to pay more attention to our game. You're losing pretty badly, mate," Celeste called to him, sinking the 12-ball in a corner pocket.

"You know, she's got a point," Joey said. The sound of his cowboy boots on the hardwood floor marked his presence as he stepped into the room. "I played her the other day. I thought I was good, but she cleaned my clock. She's better at pool than anyone else in the mansion."

As he finished his sentence, an alarm sounded. "What the hell's going on," he asked.

"Someone's on the mansion's grounds," Beast said, suddenly standing up.

_X-Men! Colossus and Nightcrawler need your help on the front lawn._ The Professor's message was incredibly urgent.

The X-Men hurried to assist their comrades-in-arms. Beast, Iceman, Shift, Lobo, and Jubilee were the first to arrive. Behind them came Rogue, Gambit, and Shadowcat, followed by Bishop and Storm. The assembled mutants saw Nightcrawler in the clutches of some tendrils controlled by a woman with wild hair, and serpentine teeth. Colossus was kneeling in front of another woman who seemed to be drawing energy from him into her mouth.

"Ah, the great X-Men," said a man covered in some kind of armor, as Cyclops and Archangel arrived behind the gathered heroes. "From what I have seen of your two comrades here, you are not so great."

"We're greater than you'll ever be," Jubilee said, earning a lifted eyebrow from Bishop.

"Care to prove it, little one," the man taunted, as Colossus fell on his side. Shadowcat was at his side in an instant.

"What did you do to him," the young woman cried, looking at the magenta-haired woman that did this to her lover.

"I simply sucked out some of his energy," the woman replied cockily.

"Vortex loves to suck," said a demonic looking man, who was standing next to an equally demonic looking woman.

"Enough of this," Lobo said, morphing himself into his lycanthropic form. His large frame ran on all fours toward the man who had just spoken. As he leapt into the air, a large red blur cut off his path, and tackled him to the ground. Gored in the midsection, Joey moaned a little as his body healed itself. The lycanthropic mutant stood up, his irises glowing an eerie yellow color, and saliva dripping from his snout. In front of him, a man with the head of a bull and the body of a man stood. His feet had only two toes, and his skin was a dark, brick red.

The two humanoid mutants began a lethal battle. Minos grabbed Lobo by the throat, and lifting him into the air, began choking the life out of him. Lobo's clawed hands ripped into Minos' thick, muscular arms, tearing the flesh to pieces, and unleashing a flow of crimson blood. Minos let go of Lobo with a cry of pain and anguish. Holding his ruined arm, he cried, "Look what you did to my arm, you fucking animal!"

Lobo growled in response, falling to all fours. Baring his teeth, saliva dripped from his mouth as he leapt forward.

- - - -

"My name is Medusa. You have injured my petssss. For that, you shall be punished." She drew her head back, bearing her snake-like fangs, and snapped her head forward incredibly quickly. Reacting almost on instinct, Cyclops unleashed a wide optic blast, entirely obliterating the glob of poison.

"You'll have to do better than that," he cried, keeping his hand close to his visor.

"Oh, don't worry, my love," she cackled. "That was just a distraction." Even as she spoke, Cyclops saw that a veritable army of serpentine tendrils was snaking towards him, with several about to encircle his legs. As he was about to fire on the tentacles, a rapid succession of energy shots rung out, each hitting the tendrils between him and Medusa. Both he and Medusa looked to see who the newcomer was.

"Who are you," the woman asked, her tendrils writhing and retreating with minds of their own.

"Cable," the man said simply, holding a massive, smoking gun. He held out his left arm, and yellow energy flowed from his shoulder, turning what was flesh into an oddly warm metal. Medusa shot one of her tendrils in the big man's direction, but before it could contact a powerful, invisible picked her up, and tossed her into the blue woman.

"Thanks," Cyclops nodded, and went to join the rest of his teammates.

- - - -

Rogue and Gambit were fighting the armored man that was seemingly leading the group. Rogue flew at the man, intending to hit him square in the chest. He dodged out of the way, allowing her to only get an arm. His left arm tore off at the shoulder, but to Rogue's amazement and disgust, the arm in her hands immediately liquefied and leaked through her fingers. "What in the world," she yelled. Turning around, she saw with amazement that his arm was growing back. As if they had minds of their own, his bionic muscles grew back, almost like the intertwining tentacles of a squid. His metallic skin sheathed his arm with a soft blue circle of energy that traveled down his arm.

"You're not going to stop me that easily, girl," Sybre said. "No matter what you do to me when I'm in this armor, you won't be able to stop me."

"Well, we'll just have ta see 'bout that," the southern belle said, flying in again. This time, as she was about to knock his head off, unseen rockets on his back fired, lifting him into the air. Using the force of the blast to add to his own strength, he hit Rogue with an uppercut straight to the chest, sending her spinning back towards Gambit. She landed on her lover, nearly flattening him into the ground.

"Remy," she pleaded, holding his head between her hands.

"Gambit alright, chere," he replied. "Jus' his ego dat's hurt."

"The two of you should really learn not to turn your backs on your enemies," the armored man said. Currents of blue electricity were swarming over the double-edged daggers that had unsheathed from his wrists.

"Truly sage advice for the ages," a cultured voice spoke behind Sybre. Beast landed on the man's back, his powerful legs hitting just between his shoulders. Leaping forward, the blue-furred mutant flipped in mid-air to land on all fours facing the other man. "Though, perhaps it would serve you better to follow that which Sun Tzu so eloquently stated. To paraphrase, one must know both oneself and one's enemy in order to govern the outcome of battle."

Sybre stood up, and appraised how his team was doing. Though the twins, Incubus and Succubus, were relatively powerful, they had grossly underestimated the abilities of the X-Men to pull up mental blocks. It seemed that Xavier trained them well. Minos was having trouble with Lobo, the massive werewolf. Minos' one drawback was that he did not have a healing factor. It was definitely a factor in this fight; the man-bull had dozens of wounds from the wolf's claws. Medusa had become a blubbering idiot after unknown mutant had tossed her into the twins. Though he wasn't sure, he thought one of her tendrils may have been killed.

The only one to still be in the fight beside himself was Vortex, who he had personally trained. She had nearly drained Cyclops and Colossus dry. But, both were now recovering. Judging from the way she was moving, Vortex was now nearly full of energy. She wouldn't be able to take too much more. It was clearly time for backup. "I know myself quite well, Beast," Sybre said smugly. "I also know all of you quite well. The question is 'How well do you know me?'" He pressed a button on his armor, red light emanating from the key.

Suddenly, a loud whine, like a small jet engine, sounded overhead. "Dat a plane," Gambit asked, looking up and shielding his eyes. A slight whistling caught his attention, as if something small was falling incredibly fast from the sky. He suddenly cried out in plain as the whistling stopped. A blue dart, half the size of a pencil, was sticking out of his right shoulder. "What de hell is dis?"

"It is something to make you easier to handle on our trip," Sybre said, as the Cajun stumbled, and fell to the ground, sleeping as soundly as a baby. Even as he fell to the ground, more jet engines were heard, followed by the same whistling noise.

"Why I oughtta …" Rogue began, her left arm pulled back to deliver a haymaker. Before she could move even a little, Sybre unleashed with the electric current from his blades, knocking her unconscious. Beast, too, was about to attack Sybre when one of the darts hit him square in the back.

Sybre watched as the X-Men began to fall, the darts homing in on their positions. The only two that seemed to be a problem were Nightcrawler and Storm. The lithe mutant was either dodging all of the darts, or was teleporting out of the way. The weather witch, on the other hand, was destroying both the darts, and his precious machines. Seeing this, he spoke one word into his radio: "Seraph."

Nightcrawler teleported out of the way of more darts. He was trying to get closer to the armored man, who seemed to be controlling the machines he heard overhead, but didn't see. Each time he was about to teleport close to the man, more darts rained down on him, trying to pin him down. Suddenly, he realized the machines had stopped firing the darts. Looking around, he saw a beautiful woman with long, dark hair held away from her face by a circlet of silver. She had three pairs of wings on her back, slightly overlapping from top to bottom. For a moment, he wondered what a seraph was doing on Earth. His answer came when she looked to Storm, and opened her mouth. An intensely powerful stream of blue energy erupted from her mouth, and connected with Storm, knocking the weather goddess to the ground. Still in his daze, Nightcrawler looked towards the woman once again, and saw a ball of the same energy just before it hit him in the chest, and fell unconscious.

"Get the collars on them and take off their clothes," Sybre said. "Wait to get it on the wolf. I'm going to get Xavier." Then, as an afterthought: "I'm very proud of all of you." He looked directly at the young winged woman when he said this.

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Jake slowly woke up. He remembered being hit, and then sudden pain, but nothing after that. I must have been knocked out, he thought. He slowly realized that his wrists were hurting like hell. He groggily looked at his left arm. It was lashed down to a piece of wood with some kind of metal wiring. He looked to his right arm. It was the same. Slowly regaining his senses, he looked down, and saw he was nearly nine feet off the ground.

He was on a white, wooden cross. Someone had crucified him. Who would be crazy enough to do something like that, he wondered. He turned his head to see if he could see anything behind him. He couldn't see anything, but he did smell gasoline. The entire cross was soaked in it. He noticed that there was at least a semicircle of lit torches around him, and directly in front of him, a green tarp, covering something. Looking down, he finally noticed the weight on his neck. Though he had never seen one, let alone worn one, he knew intuitively what it was. It was a Genoshan collar. Someone had crucified him on a gasoline-soaked cross, and had placed an inhibitor collar around his neck. Whoever they are, he thought, they must have connections. He suddenly heard a deep voice speaking in a whisper behind him.

"He's gonna get up soon. What're we gonna do to them," the first man asked, his voice harsh and raspy.

"We're gonna kill the both of them mutie sons-a-bitches. But, first, we're gonna have some fun with that purple-haired whore."

Purple-haired whore? They had Betsy too? Jake looked around. He didn't see her anywhere. Unless . . . He looked down to the tarp. The shape under it was the same size as Betsy. As he began to think of possible ways to get their attention, a short man wearing a red robe and a red, pointed hood came and stood in front of him.

"Hey, boys, he's up." It was Raspyvoice.

"Hey, man," Jake said, looking at the man's robe. "That costume is really original. It's not every day you see someone who wanted to dress up like a Klansman for Halloween. Or, wait, maybe you're trying to make a fashion statement. 'Look at me. I'm so pretty. Oh, I just love what you've done with the robe. It goes so well with your eyes.'" Jake batted his eyes as his voice became much higher, and effeminate.

"You're gonna die, you fucking mutie scum," the man yelled, punching Jake as hard as he could in the stomach. His hand hit the mass of solid, tensed muscle that was Jake's stomach. The short man looked up to see Jake smiling as if nothing had happened. Seeing that his blow hadn't had the desired effect, the man reached behind him and pulled out a previously hidden whip. He pulled his arm back, and was about to bring down the leather weapon on Jake's midsection when a commanding voice yelled at the man.

"Don't hurt him yet, Donnie. We want him to watch," the voice said. Another man came into view, wearing the same type of costume as the other. The difference was that this man Jake had seen before. It was one of the cops that had pulled him and Betsy over. The man smiled. "I bet you didn't expect this, huh?"

"Who the fuck are you, you racist asshole," Jake asked, his temper beginning to rise.

"You really want to know, don't you?" The man paused for a moment, and seemed to come to a decision. "My name is Jonathan Bordeaux. I own Bordeaux Chemicals, one of the largest chemical companies in the world. You see, I was a major contributor to the Friends of Humanity, or F.O.H. When the group went under and Senator Kelly became a mutant lover, I lost quite a bit of money. It was thus that I decided to create my own organization that would follow in the steps of the F.O.H. Though at the moment our numbers are small, we are obtaining any number of new initiates every day."

"How incredibly interesting. I would love to stay for tea and crumpets, but for the fact that you are a fucking racist jackass. And tell me this: why the hell are you guys dressed like that? I mean, you would think that someone would have a little creativity. But, no! I guess being a racist jackass like your self kind of cuts down on the amount of brain cells. Man, you have to be incredibly fucking stup-"

"I don't appreciate that tone of voice." Bordeaux took the whip from Donnie, and lashed Jake viciously across the chest. "As I was saying, we are growing in number. I realized there was a major flaw in the way the F.O.H. conducted itself. There is no way that we humans can win this genetic war head on, something that only I seemingly realized. So, that is why we now do what we do-"

"You know what? I'm really getting tired of listening to your mouth. Do you think maybe you could shut up, and do whatever it is you're going to do to me?"

"Very well, then. Mike, George, please come over here." The two men he motioned to slowly came into Jake's field of vision. The first Jake didn't recognize, but he was incredibly ugly. He had a large wart on his nose, and had teeth that seemed to be rotting away. His lips were chapped, and his eyes were bloodshot. The man behind him, Jake recognized. It was the man from the fair.

"I told you I was gonna get you," the man said.

"Donnie," Bordeaux said, "remove the tarp." The short man moved over to the tarp, and started pulling off the ground. Underneath, as Jake had suspected, was Betsy. She was nude, and was staked to the ground. Her eyes were open, but were glazed. They had drugged her. "Mike, you can go first."

The man that Betsy and Jake had met earlier smiled, and began to walk over to where Betsy was. He stepped over her, and Jake could hear what he was saying.

"I told your boyfriend I was gonna lick your pussy, and make you wet." He backed a little ways from her, and began to undo his pants.

Jake watched as the man called Mike began to take his pants off. He was now beyond being pissed off. He was beyond any anger he could ever remember. He struggled against his restraints, but to no avail. He tried again, but again, nothing happened. His blood began boiling as Mike approached Betsy, now without pants. A slight growl escaped from Jake's bared lips. He could now feel something happening to him. He didn't know what, but it felt like pure power.

George was the only one that was facing Jake as Mike was approaching Betsy. That was why he was the only one that saw what was happening to him. The man's eyes had changed from their normal brown to a glowing, golden color. His canines seemed to have grown also, as well as his hair. In fact as George watched, the man's hair grew from just above his ears down to his mid-back. Claws seemed to grow out of the ends of his fingers, and his body seemed to grow bigger.

A loud growl stopped Mike from penetrating Betsy. He looked up, and saw Jake. But, it wasn't really him. It was some kind of a monster; something resembling the man. He was straining against the metal wires holding him to the cross.

Jake's wrists were hurting even more now, but he didn't notice. His rational mind had left him, and the only thing that mattered now was protecting Betsy. Protecting his mate. He tried again, this time getting angrier. Mike turned back to Betsy, and readied himself to enter her.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The man-creature's primal roar echoed through the night, placing the hearts' of those present in the cold grip of fear. It forced itself forward once more. As the metal wires binding it to the cross broke, the whiplash across its chest healed itself. Kneeling on the ground, the creature looked up, its hair partially obscuring its view. It growled at the site: another male trying to overpower its mate. It stood up, and roared, challenging the man to a lethal battle.

Mike stood up, and looked straight into its eyes. The corpulent man had unwittingly accepted the beast's challenge. He began slowly backpedaling, keeping his eyes on the thing before him. As he got nearly twenty feet away, the creature squatted, growling, as if it knew what the fat man was doing. It suddenly jumped, and clearing the distance between it and the fat man, knocked Mike to the ground.

"NO! Please don't kill me! I haven't done anything to you," Mike said, looking at the iridescent golden eyes with terror. The creature looked down, and picked the man up easily. The creature turned him around, and forced him to his knees. The thing plunged a clawed finger into each of the man's eyes, and then, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, it tore the man's head off. Blood began spurting from the man's neck as the beast placed its hands on either side of the wound. With a fantastic ripping sound, the thing tore the man's body in half, annihilating the man's rib cage and spine. The remains of the man fell to the earth, the organs and blood steaming in the cold night air.

The thing turned around, and saw the other three men frozen in horror. It bared its teeth, and growled, beginning to stalk them. George and Donnie, concerned with their own safety, turned tale and ran, leaving Bordeaux standing in front of the gasoline-drenched cross. In his hand, he held the whip he had used on Jake. Frozen by terror, he dropped his whip as the creature now came within ten feet of him.

At ten feet, the being leaped and landed on the industrialist. The man was still in shock as its clawed hand reached into his stomach. Its arm went into the man's body up to the elbow. Its hand gripped the man's heart, causing the man's breath to stop. Suddenly, the creature's hand burst out of the man's chest, bones exploding out of his chest. The thing held Bordeaux's heart in its hand, blood running down its arm to its elbow. The creature stood up, and roared to the sky, spreading its arms, and crushing the heart in its hand.

On the opposite side of the clearing, silently watching, two figures stood. Both were dressed as if they were royalty in a medieval court. The man had a full beard and mustache, and brown hair. On his head was a golden crown, and on his belt was an ornate scabbard with an equally ornate sword. The woman to his right had long red hair past her mid-back, pulled into a single braid. On her head stood a tiara, with a single jewel in the front. On her belt, she wore an ornate sword and scabbard, as well.

"It seems, my queen, that he has discovered his ultimate strength," the man said.

"Yes, husband. It will not be long before she does likewise," she replied.

"They shall have to face their challenges, before long, my love."

"Yes, they shall. Will they be ready," she asked, as the creature, now turned back into Jake, placed Betsy over his shoulder, and leaped towards Westchester.

"I believe so. I hope so." As the man finished, another man stepped behind them and kneeled.

"My Lord and Lady-"

"You need not address us in such a manner, Simenes," the woman said. "We are equals."

"Nay, Lady Guinevere, we are not. I am only your servant, whereas you and the king are Protectors."

"Why have you come to us, Simenes," the man asked.

"Because the presence of you, sire, King Arthur, and that of Queen Guinevere are requested in the Halls of Dardaenon."

"Do you know why, friend Simenes, we have been summoned to the throne room of Lord Archon," Queen Guinevere asked.

"Nay, my lady, I do not. But it does seem urgent."

"Very well then," King Arthur said. The three disappeared in a sudden burst of white light, unseen by all save the moon shining brightly in the dark sky.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**X-Mansion, Westchester**

Jake was standing on the front lawn of the mansion. He was standing where his friends and teammates had been much earlier that day. The grass had been trampled, a sure sign of something have happened. On one part of the lawn, there was a large pile of clothes. The front door was wide open, and just inside, the Professor's wheelchair was on its side.

Betsy came out of the mansion, clothed in her costume. "There isn't anyone inside. The mansion is deserted."

"Where the hell is everyone," Jake asked, sitting in front of the door.

"I don't know, but I have an idea," Betsy said, running inside.

"What?"

"We can use Cerebro," she called back to him. "Logan and Jean went up north today, remember?"

"So whoever has the others, doesn't have them. They may even be able to tell us who did this." Jake followed Betsy inside.

- - - -

An hour later, the small jet that Logan and Jean had taken in the morning landed. Stepping out, the two were greeted by Jake and Betsy.

"What the flamin' hell were you two talkin' about there bein' nobody here," Logan asked.

"That's exactly the point," Jake said. "There isn't anyone here. No one. Not a soul, except for us."

"You said it looked like there was a struggle," Jean asked.

"Yeah, on the front lawn," Betsy said, motioning them to follow.

Logan and Jean were sniffing the ground, trying to figure out what happened. Suddenly, they both stood up.

"They were all out here. Scott, Pete, Joey, Celeste, and everyone else," Jean said.

"There were five of them. I ain't too sure how they did it, but they were able to get all o' 'em."

"Do you know who they were," Betsy asked.

"No, I ain't never smelled 'em before. But I know where they went."

"Where's that," Jake asked.

"The Savage Land."

A/N: Please, please review!


	8. The Rescue

The Protector Saga, Part I

A New Beginning

The Rescue

Rogue's eyes slowly opened. The light that poured into to her brain blinded her, making her close her eyes and allowing her to realize that she had a headache. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain above her temples, she opened her eyes again. She was in a gigantic atrium, at least twice the size of the Danger Room. It seemed to be natural; the floor was made of a reddish, polished rock. The walls were somewhere between a red and an orange, and were extremely rough. They came together at the top of the room, at least a hundred feet up, to form a huge dome. At the center of the room, stretching nearly have the height, was a large machine, with what seemed to be a place for someone to stand. Spaced equidistant from each other on the walls were metallic bed-like things that had wrist, ankle, and waist restraints. In each of these stood an X-Man. That was where Rogue was now.

She looked down, and saw that she was completely nude. Around her neck was a Genoshan collar. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the wall by what looked like shackles, and her waist had a metal restraining band stretching across it. She tried to free herself from the restraints, but found it was useless. They were tight enough that they didn't provide any movement, but not so tight they cut off the blood. Across from her, she saw Bishop in the same kind of thing she was. To his right was Beast and Storm, and to his left was Gambit. Like her, they all had collars around their necks, and were completely nude.

"Hey, where the hell am Ah," she yelled.

A demonic, aquamarine woman walked into Rogue's field of vision. If it were not for the leering smile she wore, she could have been remotely pretty. "It seems you are the first to awaken," the woman said, strolling towards Rogue.

"What da ya want with us," Rogue asked, her accent getting deeper in her anger.

"You will be the subjects of an experiment," the woman said. "If it is successful, there shall be a new, all-powerful being to rule the world." She smiled sadistically, "And if it fails, the world will be rid of some of the foremost heroes. What a shame."

Before Rogue could answer the woman, a loud baritone voice called out. "Succubus? Succubus, are you out there?"

"Yes, brother, I am," the woman replied, rolling her eyes. A moment later, a man, the same color as the woman, came walking from the same direction she had. As the man came into her field of vision, Rogue suddenly realized who they were. They were some of the same people that had defeated them at the mansion.

"There you are, sister," the man said. "I've been looking all over for you." He stopped short as he saw that his sister had been speaking with Rogue. "Sister, have you been speaking with the prisoner?"

"What if I have, brother Incubus? Would you let our magnificent leader know?"

"Of course," he replied.

- - - -

Gambit and Bishop woke at the same time to hear two loud, bickering voices. The big man opened his eyes to see a man and a woman, both an odd aquamarine color, yelling at each other. The only evidence that he had even seen them was a raised eyebrow on his normally stoic features. Gambit, on the other hand, was smiling slightly, his red irises glowing with a light of their own.

"And just what the Hell are you smilin' at," Incubus asked, finally noticing that more of their prisoners had awoken.

"Remy ain't smilin'." The Cajun's grin grew ever wider as he spoke.

"Wipe that smile off your face," Incubus said, striding towards the former thief, intent on doing what Remy would not do.

"If you touch him, I'm gonna have to kill you," a new voice said. Out from the tunnel stepped a massive man with brick-red skin. He had the head of a bull, and the body of a man. His horns and nails were pitch-black, and his feet appeared more as elongated hooves.

"Then kill me, Minos," Incubus said, getting into the other man's face. "Or are you too full of bullshit to back up your threat?"

"I'll crush your skull where you stand," Minos threatened, leaning over the smaller man.

"Would you two please shut up? I really don't like to hear your constant bickering. If you two aren't arguing about one thing, it's another," said a man with dark hair, walking into the room. He was dressed in what could have passed as a military uniform. On his wrists were plain, silver colored bracelets. This same metal made up pieces of armor on his shoulders, his thighs, and shins. "The next time that I have to remind you not to argue with each other, I will cut off your pinkie fingers. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," they answered together. They eyed each other warily, daring the other to say something.

"I'm glad you were able ta get them ta stop, but just who the hell are you," Rogue asked, her anger blazing.

"I can answer that for you," answered Celeste's voice. "He killed my father. I thought he was a hired assassin. But, I guess he works for himself."

"Ah, Celeste McMillan," the man said, slowly. "Truly a tragedy was your father's death. It is too bad that he was a coward"

"You do not get to talk about my father that way!" She stared down at him, her eyes ablaze with rage. "And he was not the coward. He didn't need to hide behind a suit of armor."

"Really," the man replied, an overconfident smile on his face. "Well, perhaps you should know that because of your suit of armor, I am now more of a man than your father could ever hope to be."

"You're not a man. All I see before me is a fucking coward with a severe case of penis envy."

The man's eyes blazed. With a sudden movement, his entire body became covered with metal originating from the pieces of armor already on his body. A single, double-edged blade unsheathed from his forearm as he approached her. "You would do well do respect me, bitch," he said, bringing the blade to her temple. His eyes traveled down her body, taking in every voluptuous curve. He returned to her face, a cold, malevolent smile plastered on his face. "You're a beautiful woman, you know," he said, using his blade to play with her dark tresses.

"Get the fuck away from me," she said, spitting on him.

"You have spirit. I like that," he said, bringing the blade to her cheek, tanned by the Australian sun. She turned away from the touch, her face a twisted mask of disgust. He seemed to smile underneath his helmet as the blade began to travel down her body. It traveled over the inhibitor collar she wore, and touched her chest. The sword traveled between her full breasts, leaving a thin trail of crimson. It traveled even lower, causing her taught stomach to shy away from the blade. The blade traveled still lower, past her navel, and settled between her legs, its edges pressing lightly against her labia. A smile more sinister than the first seemed to form behind the mask. Celeste's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed, her body tensing itself in anticipation of his next move.

"SYBRE!" It was a voice Celeste hadn't heard before, feminine, but still dark and evil. Celeste let out a sigh of relief as her body relaxed and the man's blade returned into his forearm. Out of the gloom bounded the owner of the sinister voice. The woman had coffee skin, and dark hair. She could be considered beautiful if it weren't for her eyes. They seemed to gleam with a malevolence of their own. There was something there that compelled Celeste to look away.

"Seraph is fighting the machine again," the woman said impatiently. "I need you and Minos to hold her down while I give her a sedative."

"Fine," Sybre said. "Incubus, Minos, come with me." He turned to Succubus. "Watch them; make sure they stay where they are."

Succubus watched them walk back into the hallway that led into the back of the building. When they were gone, she went to Celeste, and whispered, "You should be glad that it was Sybre who took a liking to you and not Minos."

"Why are you talking to me," Celeste asked, perplexed.

"Because," the woman said, "I have realized that Sybre is a madman. I will no longer allow him and his ideologies to taint my conscience." She paused, and looked up to Celeste. "As I was saying, you should be glad Sybre likes you, and not Minos."

"Why is that?"

"Minos is …", she began. "Minos is sick – disturbed." She looked down to her hands, seemingly in deep thought. "I wish I didn't know this, but …. When Minos first joined us, he boasted that he had killed an entire family in Vancouver. He did … horrific things to that family."

"What happened," a tender voice asked. It belonged to Kurt, who was now giving her his undivided attention.

"He broke into their house," she began. "There was a father, a mother, and three daughters, ages sixteen, fourteen, and ten. Minos waited until the girls were all home from school, and then broke in that night." She paused, tears welling in her eyes. "He chained them up in their basement, and then undressed them."

"What then," Kurt asked again, afraid of where her narrative was going. But, he also knew that she had to let it go, that if she didn't, it would continue eating her up inside.

"He raped the mother," she said, her face a mask of disgust. "He forced the entire family to watch. After he finished with her, he worked his way down to the youngest of the girls, forcing the rest of the family to watch." Tears were rolling down her face, her lips trembling with emotion. "After he got bored, he had a new idea: he wanted the father to rape his daughters." She wiped tears from her eyes, now bleary and red, biting her lip to keep it from moving. "When the father refused, Minos tortured his wife. He took a broomstick, and wrapped it in barbed wire, and then he … he …."

"You do not need to finish," Kurt said softly, his voice belying the revulsion in his heart. How could someone do something like that, he thought, as he said a silent prayer for the family.

"Minos … the bastard, he killed the family." She paused again, wiping away more tears. "He burned them alive by setting fire to the house. He boasts about it all the time. When he has drank too much, he talks about it … talks about the way they fought him, the way they squirmed with him on top of them."

"I'm really sorry that you've had to listen to him boast his exploits," Celeste said, "but there is the little matter of us being kidnapped."

"There is nothing that I can do," the young woman explained. "Only Sybre knows the combination to unlock the restraints." She looked at Celeste, and then to the other X-Men. "I suppose I could try to get it from him," she thought out loud.

"We would not want you to take any undo risks," a voice said. She turned around, and saw the Beast speaking to her.

"Life is a risk," she replied brusquely, a sad look in her eyes.

X-Mansion, Westchester 

"Hey, do you guys feel that?"

"What," Betsy asked, looking at Jake. "What's it feel like?"

"I don't know. I can't really describe it," Jake said. "But it's kind of like a really deep vibration, like when you're bass is too high." Logan and Jean looked at each other for a moment, and then looked at Jake. The four of them were now in the Blackbird, having just taken off.

"The engines," Logan suggested, as the jet starting moving forward, ascending to its cruising height as it did so.

"No," Jake answered, puzzled. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feeling. "It's changed; so it can't be the engines." He suddenly realized he felt air – air moving over him, and under him, and all around him. It was rushing past him at an incredible speed, the air cooling him as it passed. It was raising him up on what felt like … wings. "Wow," Jake said, opening his eyes.

"What," Betsy asked, her eyes intense, and concern creeping into her voice.

"I was feeling the air going over the Blackbird," he said silently. "It was almost as if I _was_ the Blackbird. I could feel the air underneath the wings, lifting me … us."

"Do you know when this could have happened," Jean asked, looking back from her seat in the cockpit.

"My only thought is that it happened last night."

"And you still don't remember what happened?"

"No, I don't remember anything other than being incredibly angry." He turned to Betsy. "Do you remember anything, Bets?" But she was seemingly lost in thought, her eyes focused on the floor. "Betsy," he asked, gently shaking her shoulder.

"What," she asked, momentarily lost. "Oh," she said, "I don't remember anything, either." But, she was preoccupied with what she thought she saw. She could have sworn that, just for a few seconds, Jean looked younger than what she was.

**The Savage Land**

"Hello, my little lab rats," Sybre said cheekily. He entered into the dome from the hidden hallway set into the wall. "I do so hope you are ready for our little experiment."

"The machine is almost ready, SSSybre," Medusa said, looking up from her computer console.

"Whatcha goin' ta do to us," Gambit asked, his voice dripping acid.

"Ah, the Cajun," the man said, walking up to the former thief. He looked at Gambit appraisingly, and said, "I suppose that since you will be the subjects in this little experiment, it would only be right to let you know what is going to happen." He motioned towards Medusa. "Medusa, if you please?" The serpentine woman began pressing buttons at her console, causing an electric hum to fill the room. A moment more, and hydraulics began to lift the chamber in the middle of the large space. Gambit saw that there was actually a flight of stairs connected to this machine, and that their own restraints were attached to the same machine.

"This machine is capable of copying certain genetic sequences from certain organisms, and then placing those sequences into another," Sinister explained. "What I plan to do is to target the individual genetic codes in each of you that are affected by your X-factors. Then I plan to incorporate those into the DNA of a volunteer. In so doing, she will become the most powerful being on the face of the planet." He paused for effect, an insane glimmer shining in his eyes. "And she will be at my beck and call."

"What makes you so certain she will follow you," asked a voice from behind Sybre. The armored man turned around to see Magneto burning a hole into his head with his eyes.

"I will follow him because we have the same goal." A woman with coffee skin, and dark hair stepped into the light. She was the same woman that Celeste had seen earlier. "It is our goal to rule the world."

"Then you do not have the same goal," the Master of Magnetism replied. "There can only be one ruler of the world."

"Perhaps," the woman said. "But we are willing to share." She moved toward Magneto, her loose, cotton pants spreading like wings. "And once this procedure is over, we will be on the first step towards being the most powerful beings on the planet."

"And you really believe that," asked Jubilee, incredulously.

"Of course," the woman answered.

"Then you're even more whacked out than he is," Jubilee responded, nodding towards Magneto.

"Perhaps I am," the woman said. She stood in front of Jubilee, her eyes as hard as flint. "Tell me, where are the other two X-Men? The ones called Wolverine and Phoenix."

"I ain't gonna tell. But, they're surely gonna be pissed off at you after they see what you've done to us."

"I can't wait to meet them," the woman replied facetiously. "They'll find you all dead, and us long gone."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Jubilee mumbled under her breath.

- - - -

"Are you ready, Maddie," Sybre asked the woman.

"Yes, I am, my love," she replied, kissing him where his mouth was beneath his helmet.

"Is the machine ready, Medusa?"

"Yesss."

"Good." He took Maddie's hand as she ascended the stairs. "This procedure will take a lot out of her, Minos. While she is resting, Seraph will look over her." He started to strap Maddie into the machine, when Minos came up behind him.

"What about the prisoners, Sybre," the second-in-command asked.

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot them," Sybre said, pausing his ascent. "Minos," he ordered, "find Seraph, and the two of you bring out the three prisoners."

A few minutes later, there was a low rustling coming from the hall leading to Sybre's chambers. From the shadows, a woman with almost iridescent blue eyes walked into the light. Nightcrawler recognized her at once; she was the woman that had knocked both him and Storm unconscious. Before, he hadn't been able to get a very good look at her. But, now, looking upon her once again, he realized she was beautiful, in every sense of the word. Her long, dark hair fell nearly to her waist. Her skin was pale and clear, untouched by the Savage Land's harsh sun. She wore some kind of armor over her body, with odd, intricate designs etched into the chest piece. But what caught his attention was her back. She had three pairs of large, white wings, just like a seraph. An angel. As he watched, her wings flared out, and then layered themselves, so it seemed as if there was only one pair of very large wings, and then folded on her back.

Behind her came Minos. He tugged on a chain he was dragging behind him. Out of the shadows fell two figures, both with aquamarine skin. "Get up, you fucking traitors!" He yanked on the chain, which was attached to collars they were wearing around their necks. "I said get up," Minos yelled again. He kicked Incubus in the side, his hoofed foot sinking into the smaller man's gut, driving the air out of his lungs. Disgusted, the bull-man picked Incubus up by the shoulder, and shoved him roughly into the wall. Minos then picked Succubus up by the neck, driving her into the wall. He eyed her appreciatively, his sadistic mind taking in every curve of her body.

"Easy, Minos," Sybre said. "Not yet." He turned to Seraph. "Did you get the other prisoner?"

"Yes, master," she said, bowing.

"Please bring her forth." The woman bowed again, and retreated into the dark hallway. A few minutes later, she returned, with a female prisoner in front of her. The prisoner, dressed all in black, had gloves and a ski mask on, hiding her face and hands. "This last one should surprise them," Sybre said malevolently, his eyes almost dancing with glee.

- - - -

"You may be wondering why I have two of my own people as prisoners." Sybre stood in the middle of the room, addressing the X-Men in his best oratorical voice. "I will be explaining that in a moment," he continued. "But first, I suppose I should explain who I am.

"Miss McMillan was right when she thought I worked for terrorists." He smiled, his impossibly white teeth incongruous with his malicious eyes. "I am called in to get done that which is supposedly impossible. Maybe the assassination of a politician, or the theft of something entirely top secret." His gaze roamed the room, locking on Storm's. "I was the one that killed Felix Wanabi in Zaire two years ago. Of course, the people who paid me didn't bother to think about the possibility of a civil war." He shrugged. "But then again, the more war there is, the more I get paid.

His gaze turned towards Shift. "But it wasn't until I was asked to steal a top secret prototype that I decided to go it alone. At the time, I was employed by a terrorist group that, quite frankly, makes almost all other others look like a collective group of Boy Scouts." He smiled slightly, reliving the memory. "Of course, when I returned to their HQ alone clad in this marvelous armor, they immediately grew suspicious. But, it wasn't until I assassinated their leader that they started attacking me." He turned around, his eyes moving from person to person. "They've been after me ever since," he said, a cocky smile plastered across his face. "But, as you can see, I'm still standing.

"Now," he said, "let's get down to business.

"Succubus," the man said, "you were going to help these wonderfully uncanny X-Men escape." He turned magnanimously around, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, and smiling to his audience. "And I'm sure that you're all wondering how she was going to do this, aren't you?" His voice had taken on a playful lilt, which only seemed to enhance his malevolence. "Succubus was trying to seduce me into giving her the codes to undo your bindings. Unfortunately, she did not realize that I am immune to all forms of empathy and telepathy while I am armored.… So here we all are.

"Minos," Sybre said, motioning for his second, "if you please?" The bull-man came forward, bowing slightly. "Take her to your quarters, and do as you will to her." Sybre took a length of barbed wire from an unseen pocket, and handed it to Minos. "You will, perhaps, need this." The bull-man's eyes lit up with a carnal desire, his smile malicious. Succubus' eyes went wide with terror as Minos took her by the arm and began dragging her towards the hallway at the back of the cave.

"Incubus," Sybre said, smiling. "As you've already seen, I do not take kindly to sedition." He looked directly at Professor Xavier as he spoke. "Incubus, you see, knew about Succubus' betrayal, and yet, did nothing." He activated his armor as he stood over Incubus. "For this crime, you shall pay a truly heinous penance." He stepped forward, unsheathing one of the blades in his wrists. As he did so, horrendous, pain-laden screams echoed out from the hallway, as Succubus' tender flesh of femininity was shredded by the sadistic ravaging of an inhuman monster. "Your sister is being taken care of as we speak," Sybre said, his malicious smile almost visible beneath his helmet.

"Now it is your turn," Sybre said coldly. Kneeling, he flicked his wrist, easily cutting away Incubus' pants, leaving him nude from the waste down. "Perhaps you would be interested to know that what I am about to do to you was in an excellent book that I read." With another quick flick of the wrist, Sybre had castrated Incubus, the gaping wound gushing torrents. "Now," Sybre said, "comes the interesting part." Holding what was left of Incubus' manhood in his right hand, Sybre opened the man's mouth with his left.…

- - - -

Remy felt sick to his stomach. Unable to turn away from the brutality before him, he had seen the entire thing. Even with all that he had seen as an X-Man and what he had seen as a thief in New Orleans, he did not believe he had seen such … carnage. After forcing Incubus' manhood into his mouth, Sybre had cauterized the man's mouth shut.

Looking at the dying man, Remy caught the look of all-encompassing fear as the man slowly bled out from a dozen wounds. He looked at Remy almost pleadingly, wanting to die quickly. The former thief looked away, unable to bear the pitiful sight before him. As much as he wanted to help the man before him, he could do nothing. He gritted his teeth, vowing he would not allow this assassin and his … cronies to get away with what they were doing here.

Remy's attention was drawn away as Sybre moved towards the third prisoner, casting a final glance at the dying man to his right. Sybre looked around, his face covered by the metal that covered his entire body. "You X-Men may be surprised by my final hostage," the man said. "Needless to say, I have had a great amount of fun with this … specimen. She is truly worth her weight in gold." With a sudden flourish, he tore the mask from her face.

It took a few moments for the imprisoned X-Men to comprehend what they saw before them. It was Kitty who first understood. Before them was a blonde woman, with long hair. She, like Seraph, was wearing a ringlet of silver on her head. With her blue eyes, and model-like features, the woman bore a striking resemblance to Sue Richards, the Invisible Woman. But, the woman was not Susan Richards. She, in fact, seemed to be someone that they had never met. If she was not someone they had met before, that begged the question: who was she? The answer came to her just as the armored man began to speak again.

"As I already said, you will all be surprised who this is," the man said. Turning to the woman, he said, "Show them who you really are." The blonde-haired woman transformed into a woman with dark red hair, blue skin, and yellow eyes. "Behold, the great Mystique!"

"What have you done to her," Kurt asked, panic in his voice.

"Nothing yet," Sybre replied. "Although I must admit that she is an excellent … companion in the bedroom. You have never lived until you have slept with a metamorph."

"Leave her alone," Rogue screamed, struggling against her restraints. "If you hurt her, Ah'll …."

"You'll what? Throttle me with your tongue," Sybre asked, cutting off the X-Woman. "I think that perhaps you do not realize that you are in no position to threaten," he said, moving towards her. "That being said, if you threaten me again, I will tear your lungs out through your nose." To emphasize his point, he unsheathed the wrist-mounted blade in his right arm. "I do hope we have an accord," he said, bringing the tip of the blade within a millimeter of her eye. "Good," he said, seeing her nod almost imperceptibly.

"Now," Sybre said, "back to business." Walking back towards Mystique, he unsheathed his other blade. "Maddie, would you be so kind as to reactivate her higher brain functions? Just please remember not to activate her speech centers."

"Of course, Sybre," she replied. Maddie seemed to concentrate for a moment.

Suddenly, Mystique's eyes widened, lucidity rushing back into them with the speed of thought. Her eyes clouded with confusion, before focusing on the man before her. Intense rage and hate roiled beneath the iridescent orbs, her mouth opening to try to speak. She looked down, her brows scrunched in concentration. She looked back up at Sybre, her eyes questioning.

"She wants to know why you won't let her talk," Maddie told Sybre, a smile spread across her lips.

"I do not enjoy listening to the remonstrations of … whores." The metamorph struggled against her restraints, her eyes glittering with psychopathic rage. "Oh, I do enjoy a woman with spunk." With that, he unsheathed one of his blades. Holding his arm straight out from his body, blue pulses of electricity began running down the blade. With a single forward movement, electricity shot forth from the blade to the middle of Mystique's chest.

Mystique's entire body shuddered as electric pulses flowed through her body, her neurons violently firing with each pulsation. Her mouth repeatedly opened and closed, her teeth shattering to pieces, white flecks of enamel covering her lips. As her body continued to heat up from the current, her eyes began to bulge as the fluid began to boil. With a sickening plopping sound, her eyes didn't so much explode as disintegrate. Smoke began rising from her chest as the smell of burning flesh permeated the entire chamber.

"Momma." Rogue cried silently, reverently, as Mystique's corpse collapsed to the ground. Beside her, Kurt prayed silently in German, tears moving slowly down his face.

"Now that we have taken care of this unfortunate dilemma," Sybre said, "let us finish the business at hand." He nodded almost imperceptibly at Maddie.

Maddie finished her ascension to the chamber. She placed her wrists in the arm restraints, and her ankles in the leg restraints. "Power up, Medusa." A surge of power rushed through the wires of the machine, as the restraints holding Maddie's arms and legs were pulled taught. A loud humming emanated from the machinery, and slowly grew louder. The humming began pounding in their ears, the sound throbbing through the floor, vibrating the entire dome. A ball of blue energy began to build in the center of the chamber, crackling and sparkling with its strength. The louder the hum was, the brighter the ball became. Suddenly, when the sound didn't seem to be able to get any louder, blue lightning bolts erupted from the ball of energy, striking each one of the mutants square in the chest. They screamed in the pain as their muscles began flexing, each pulsation causing harder contractions. Pulses of energy flowed from the mutants to the ball along the lightning bolts. As each pulse of energy hit the ball, it expanded. The ball, now halfway between the machine and the wall-mounted restraints, pulled the lighting bolts back inside. Suddenly, the ball contracted in on itself, seemingly being absorbed into Maddie's body, creating a sonic boom that rocked the entire atrium.

Sybre's men watched as the smoke coming from the telepath's body cleared. The X-Men, and Magneto hung in their restraints, unmoving, but still breathing. Maddie was almost lifeless inside the chamber, able to just barely move her eyes. The only thing holding her up was the wrist restraints. Taking her down from the apparatus himself, Sybre said, "We need to get her to her bed." Giving her to the newly returned Minos, Sybre said, "She desperately needs her rest."

- - - -

They landed in a clearing roughly two miles from the dome that their teammates were being held in. Warlock stepped out of the jet, and marveled at what he saw.

"My God," he said, marveling at what he saw. "It's so … incredible."

"You won't think that when you meet a dinosaur," Psylocke said.

"Dinosaurs? You mean like in _Jurassic Park_?"

"Yeah," Logan spoke up behind them. "Only they ain't as nice."

Jean came down the ramp last, studying the PDA-sized tracking device in her hands. "That way," she said, pointing south.

Several minutes later, the four of them came upon a small clearing, a little smaller than the Blackbird. As they got past the halfway mark, they saw a large, reddish dome rising out of the earth. Just before the dome, the forest returned, becoming much more deeper than the forest they had been in just previously. Suddenly, Wolverine stopped, sniffing the air. He turned his head to the left slightly, and then turned it to the right. Taking in one more deep breath, he growled loudly.

_Move it! Now! Run!_

"What is it," Phoenix asked. Her question was answered as a loud roar sounded from her left. Out of the trees stepped a large tyrannosaur, long strands of saliva running from its mouth. It roared again, this time beginning to charge at the four mutants. Wolverine unsheathed his claws, waiting for the animal to get closer. His entire body tensed, ready for the fight.

"Don't," Psylocke said evenly.

"What," he snarled, casting a sidelong glance her direction.

"Leave it alone," she replied. He didn't seem to hear her, as he ran towards the animal, head low, his arms wide. Still uncannily calm, Psylocke raised her hand before her, emerald green iridescence shimmering along her skin. Wolverine stopped suddenly, standing ramrod straight, his arms at his side. The massive predator before them also stopped suddenly, an empty look coming to its eyes. Her other hand raised before her, the fingers pointing at Wolverine. With a slight "come hither" gesture, his body levitated, and was brought back towards her.

"What did you do to them," Jean asked, looking suspiciously at Psylocke.

"Nothing dangerous," Psylocke answered.

"What happened," Logan asked, as the green glow left his body. He looked around, seeing the dinosaur frozen in place.

"She's letting it know who's the boss," Warlock answered. Before them, the dinosaur awoke from its daze. Looking befuddled, it turned around, and walked back into the forest from where it had come.

- - - -

"They're up there. We can both smell 'em," Wolverine said. They were looking at a pathway that led to the entrance to a large rock dome. "We ain't too sure what it's gonna be like in there." As the four of them approached the archway leading to the large dome, they could hear low voices talking about something or other.

"Who is it, Wolverine," Psylocke asked.

"It's Bishop and Gambit," Warlock answered, before their leader could. "They're tryin' ta figure out a way to get out."

"Well, they just got a way," Phoenix said. The four of them entered the archway slowly. Though they had scanned the room for their teammates' captors, but knew there may still have been one of them in the room, nonetheless. They were surprised by what they saw as they entered through the archway. Around them, they saw vertical beds of sorts, each with one of their teammates. All of them were nude, and shackled spread-eagle. Few seemed conscious; most of them had their head resting on their chest or shoulders. The four of them split up, so they could free more of their teammates faster.

Warlock went to Gambit and Bishop. They seemed to be the only ones that awake. It only seemed logical to start freeing their teammates with them.

"I'm happy to see ya, mon ami," Gambit said, as Warlock used his sword to cut off the Genoshan collar. "Happy you got my clothes, too."

"I'm happy I've got your clothes, too," Warlock said, a shit-eating grin plastered across you face. "When your done gettin' dressed, start freeing the others," he said, starting to work on getting Bishop loose from his bindings.

Wolverine was getting Professor X out of his own binding. The bald telepath looked up, and saw the short X-Man come up, and cut off the Genoshan collar around his neck. _Logan, I am happy to see you._

_An' I'm glad ta see ya too, Chuck. But right now, we're gonna hafta find a place where you'll be safe._

"Just undo my bindings, Wolverine, and place me on the ground. I should be alright like that."

"Ya sure, Chuck," the feral mutant asked. _Yes. Release the others, and get us out of here._

Wolverine placed the geneticist on the ground, and moved to the man's left. He freed Colossus, Shadowcat, and Nightcrawler before one of Sybre's henchmen came into the room. Minos walked in, and for a moment, was completely stunned. The sight of so many of their captors free surprised him into silence. Finally coming out of his stupor, he spoke into his wrist-mounted radio. "Sybre, we got some more of them X-Men punks here. I'm gonna need some reinforcements."

Before the man-bull could get a response, he was knocked to the ground by Nightcrawler, who had just teleported above him. Minos stood up and faced the German mutant. Balling his fists, he exhaled suddenly, creating a small cloud of gas from his nose. He lowered himself to the ground, his horns menacingly sharp. Suddenly, he charged forward, his head low, aiming for Nightcrawler. He ran right through the place where the former circus performer had been. He looked around, smelling only sulfur.

"Looking for me," asked a voice from behind Minos. Nightcrawler was standing with his arms crossed across his chest, a smug smile plastered across his fuzzy face. Minos charged the blue mutant again, his head down so that his neck and spine were in a straight line. This time, he was stopped when something hard and cold planted his feet to the ground.

Minos looked down, only to see chunks of ice up to his knees cementing him to the ground. Minos turned to his left, and saw four … ice sculptures, each identical to the temperature deficient Iceman. "I bet you can't figure out which one is me," the smaller man taunted. The large bull-man, though heavily muscled, lacked a lot of brain activity. He gored the middle piece of ice head on, but found that it was merely a block of ice. He turned to his left and, with all his considerable might, hit the ice sculpture as hard as possible. It exploded into a thousand pieces of ice, just like the previous one. The bull-man turned around, facing the last two, knowing one of them had to be Iceman. Running at a full tilt, he spread his arms wide, clotheslining the last two Iceman-shapes. Looking down, he was surprised to see that both had shattered, ice shards spread across the floor.

"You really thought it would be that easy," a voice asked from behind Minos. He turned around, to see the newly freed wolf-man, already transformed into his lycanthropic form. Beside Lobo was standing Iceman, a broad smile across his face. "We've got something on you that you don't."

"And what is that," Minos growled, half-crouching.

"We're a team," Iceman said, pointing behind the bull-man.

Minos turned as a coil of beige, gelatinous gloop hit him square in the chest. Tentacles wrapped around him with a sudden, powerful ferocity, squeezing him with an intense strength. A large pedicel grew out of one of the tentacles, cementing itself to the floor. Picking up the bull-man, the tentacles started swinging as a lasso above a cowboy's head. Picking up speed, the tentacles let go of bull-man, throwing the man across the atrium with an incredible intensity. As Minos hit the apex of his journey, the pedicelled tentacles metamorphed into Shift.

"Nice throw," Iceman said.

"Thanks," she replied. As Minos began his descent, he was suddenly caught as a long metal rope coiled around him, and lowered him to the ground. Following the coil, they saw that Sybre had returned from the back of the cave. Behind him came the rest of his henchmen.

"Oh, goody, more playmates," Lobo said, cracking the knuckles on his massive hands. He looked behind him to see the last of the X-Men finish getting dressed.

"You won't be saying that when you are looking up from the ground," Sybre said. With a sudden movement, a metal tentacle came out from under his wrist, rushing at Lobo with unstoppable speed. The end, tipped with three pincers, clamped together, forming a spear-head. Before he could grab the tentacle, the end went through the middle of Lobo's chest, and out his back. Sybre tugged suddenly with intense strength, pulling Lobo towards him.

Planting his feet, Lobo gripped the ground with his claws. Wrapping his wrist around the metal coil, he heaved Sybre towards him, the cybernetic man came flying through the air. With his other hand, Lobo ripped the harpoon-like coil tip out of his chest with an animalistic intensity. Falling to his knees, and clutching his chest in pain, he watched as Sybre landed on his shoulder, at Rogue's feet.

"You killed her," Rogue said, her voice low and menacing. She cocked her fist above her head, and with a punch with all the power of a Mack truck, hit Sybre across the mouth spinning his entire body. Her fist trailing rock dust from the hole in the ground, she backhanded him across the atrium as he got back up.

"And I'd do it again," Sybre replied viciously, as Rogue landed before him. He lashed out with a ferocious kick that hit her square in the chest, sending her flying back to where she had been.

Gambit looked on, seeing Rogue being kicked so hard. He was about to help her, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "We've got bigger problems."

Bishop pointed ahead of him, towards the back of the cave, where there were now standing nearly fifty robots, each similar to Sybre's armor. Even as he spoke, the robots began fanning out, targeting the X-Men. They began firing darts from their chests; the same darts that had been able to take them out before. "Watch the darts," he heard Warlock shout above the din of fighting.

"I was always told the bigger a man's gun, the smaller his … equipment," a female voice said behind him. Turning around, Bishop saw the woman, Vortex, standing before him. She was trying to pull of a sexy look, but with too much makeup, ratty hair, and a costume that showed a little too much, she looked like she was trying too hard. Her over-eyelined eyes looked him up and down appreciatively. "I guess I was wrong."

"What do you want," he asked, leveling his gun at her.

"Oh, just some energy," she replied devilishly. She opened her mouth, and Bishop suddenly felt his life-force draining from him. Unable to move, he had the eerie feeling of a string being continuously drawn from his chest. He could feel his throat closing shut; his lungs unable to draw in breath. He could feel himself growing weaker by the moment, his strength leaving him faster and faster. Abruptly, the feeling of energy being stolen from him stopped, his strength beginning to rebound almost immediately.

"Bishop?" The big man looked up, his back on the ground, to see Warlock standing above him. Green energy was being siphoned from him, his entire body bathed in an intense emerald iridescence. Sitting up, he saw Vortex sucking energy from Warlock into her mouth. But, something was wrong with her. He saw that her eyes were wide, and her limbs were trembling.

"Warlock," Bishop asked.

"It's alright," Warlock replied, a confident smile across his face. As Bishop watched, the emerald aura increased, the flow to Vortex increasing, in turn. Her eyes began to glow with a slight green radiance. It slowly increased, the luminescence spread to her mouth, light seemingly coming out of her throat. But, the light continued to spread, stretching out slowly to the rest of her body. The iridescence kept increasing, so much so that he could hardly look at it. Suddenly, just as he thought he could no longer bare to look at her, the energy seemed to rebound to Warlock with an almost sickening wet ripping sound. The light slightly increased around his body as he re-absorbed the energy, before it dissipated into nothingness.

Bishop looked to Vortex, her body lying prone on the floor before Warlock. "Did you …?"

"No," Warlock replied, "she's still alive." He kneeled before Bishop, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder. "You may need this," Warlock said, emerald energy flowing around his hand. With a slight push, the energy surged into Bishop with the force of water breaking through a dam. The big man's back arched as power beyond anything he had ever felt rushed into his body, flooding his senses with peaceful ecstasy. "Feel better," Warlock asked.

"Yes," Bishop answered, as a massive thud resounded from behind them. Turning around, they saw Colossus shatter a robot, thousands of metal parts falling to the ground as he moved to the next. Around him, the rest of the X-Men were easily taking out the machines. But, that was not what had caused the mammoth collision. They saw, to the right of the Russian, Lobo and Minos engaged in mortal combat of mythological proportions.

- - - -

The two animal-like mutants had seemingly targeted each other from the outset. They had migrated, almost instinctively, towards one another. They had both wanted to finish the fight they had started earlier.

"You dog," Minos shouted. "Where do get off thinking you're better than me!" Blood was dripping from his snout, a massive gash running from his cheek to his chest.

"I am better than you," Lobo growled back. Though he didn't have any wounds on his chest, his grey fur was stained crimson red. Minos' blood stained his clawed hands up to his mid-forearm. "I'm not the one that raped and killed an entire family!" He crouched to all fours, his massive teeth bared in a menacing snarl. His powerful legs pistoned below him, launching him into an impressive jump. Descending, he spread his clawed fingers wide, aiming for Minos' abdomen. He landed, half-crouched, his right hand dripping fresh blood.

"You cut me, you fucking dog," Minos yelled, a massive red hand clutched over his chest. Five long gashes stretched from his left shoulder to his right abdomen, the wounds converging as they closed on Minos' waist. "You'll pay for that," the man roared. He cocked his fist, and with a mighty effort, swung with all his strength, aiming for Lobo's face.

But the lupine mutant was too fast. The minotaur-like mutant's fist soared over Lobo's head, as the X-Man crouched on all fours. The big Apache stood straight behind the punch, striking out with his own blow. His massive paw struck Minos' shoulder with the force of a speeding semi, the large claws cleaving the scapula, and shattering the shoulder socket. Minos' blood flowed freely, his subclavian artery severed, the entire arm hanging by a few shreds of flesh, and part of the clavicle. The blood … the blood was starting to make Lobo's mouth water, the Wolf in him taking control of the man. Unable to stop himself, the Wolf entirely controlling his mind, he opened his mouth wide, and chomped down on Minos' shoulder. Shaking his entire head and shoulders, as a dog would a rabbit, he tore a massive chunk of meat out of Minos. Dropping the chunk of meat into his awaiting arms, Lobo raised his face to the sky, howling with primal, victorious rage.

- - - -

It was Shift who first saw what had happened. Looking in his direction, she saw a blood-streaked visage of Lobo, man-flesh in his arms, the very image of a werewolf. "Joey … no," she whispered sorrowfully.

Sybre used her momentary lapse of concentration against her, ripping through the gelatinous tentacle that held him, and throwing her across the room. Shift hit Rogue in the abdomen with the force of a speeding train. Looking towards the remains of his second, Sybre started walking towards Lobo, his wrist-blades unsheathed. Before he could get far, though, he was knocked down to the ground by Rogue, her immense strength driving him into the rock floor.

Standing up, Sybre turned to face Rogue, his sneer almost visible through his helmet. "Coward," he sniped.

"I am not a coward," Rogue replied, standing tall.

"If you are not a coward," Sybre said, "then kill me." He stepped towards her imperiously, electricity buzzing down the wrist-blades. The woman's fists clenched tightly, rage sparking in her green eyes.

"You're not worth it," she said, gritting her teeth. From out of nowhere, Sybre's arms were bound tightly together, beige tentacles wrapping up his forearms. Seeing him tied up so, Rogue flew at him with as much speed and strength as she possibly could. Her fist struck Sybre's temple with the power of a speeding train, knocking him into the opposing wall.

Sybre landed on his buttocks, his back driven deep into the wall. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Raising his head, he said, "You will not defeat me that easily!" The rocket boosters on his back fired suddenly, accelerating him towards Rogue and Shift. He fired the electricity from his blades, striking both women in their chests. Shift's body fell to the ground in a large gelatinous pool, sparks of electricity running over the trembling goo. The surge barely affected Rogue as she flew towards Sybre once again, her fist cocked.

But, Sybre was too fast this time. He dodged her, her body cruising past him, over his shoulder. He stood up to face her, his blades drawn. But his attention was drawn to a sudden, ferocious growl. Turning his head, he watched with rapt fascination as Beast and Nightcrawler took down the last of his robots in a complicated, deadly ballet. "NO," Sybre yelled as the last robot fell. He wheeled around, pointing his blade in the direction of Professor Xavier. "YOU," Sybre screamed. "You are the reason I have failed. For this, you will pay!"

"You won't touch him," Cyclops yelled, turning his attention towards the other man.

"No, I won't," Sybre said menacingly. "Seraph," he called into his helmet. A moment later, the same woman with pale skin, and long dark hair stepped out from the shadows, the blank stare still in her eyes. "Kill Professor Xavier!"

"Yes, Master," the woman replied, bowing before the armored man. Standing up, she flung her head back, and opened her mouth wide. A massive blue stream of concussive energy spewed forth, racing towards the geneticist with almost inconceivable force.

Reacting almost on instinct, Cyclops raced in front of his mentor, and unleashed his optic blast. The two streams of energy met each other with a sonic boom, fighting for dominance. Purple energy bled out from where they collided, the two streams melding together. Cyclops dropped to one knee, the force of the woman's blast almost making him lose his balance.

Lavender energy continued to flow out of the collision, the entire atrium shaking as the titanic test of will continued. Fascinated by the purple energy, Medusa approached the outer reaches of the discharge, her arms extended to feel the power therein. As her right hand reached the edge of the discharge, a spike of lavender light struck out at her. A sudden, insurmountable force struck against her, sending her crashing into the machinery on the wall behind her. Her back was bent at an odd angle, her upper half laying on the top of one of the holding beds, her lower half hanging in the air.

The energy kept on leaking from the confrontation, as the two powerful mutants kept their respective energies flowing. The other X-Men watched as the purple energy started striking against the atrium's walls. Pieces of rock began falling from the places where the energy struck; beginning to ever so slowly weaken the walls. The excess energy had now spread so that none could get to the other side of the collision without touching.

Professor Xavier, unable to be effective in the fight, had been watching as Cyclops and Seraph had squared off. He was especially intrigued with the metal band she wore on her head. It was holding her hair away from her face, and behind her shoulders. It was intricately designed, made to look almost Celtic. At the point directly above her nose, there was a small gem. During the fight, he had noticed that it seemed to change color, from a royal blue to a rich red, and back again. It was only now, seeing her head on, that he was able to study it fully. And he was surprised by what he saw.

_Bishop_, the geneticist called telepathically.

_Professor?_

_The metal band on the woman's head; I need you to remove it._

The big man looked towards the winged woman, the blue energy flying from her mouth. And watching the band, he understood. _Okay._ He made his way towards the woman, making sure he wouldn't be seen.

_Scott._

_Professor?_

_When I let you know, I need you to stop firing at Seraph._

_Professor? Are you sure?_

_Yes._ Cyclops acquiesced silently, knowing his mentor knew something he did not.

Bishop reached for Seraph's metal band. As he did so, Professor Xavier spoke to Cyclops. _Now!_ The red optic beam cut off suddenly, just as the blue energy Seraph was emitting stopped. The last of the purple discharge dissipated, clearing the room.

Seraph almost immediately dropped to her hands and knees, her wings limp at her sides. She suddenly retched, violently, spilling the contents of her stomach on the ground. She kept retching, her throat growing hoarse, and her mouth sour with vomit. She began dry heaving, her stomach entirely empty. As the convulsions finally stopped, she fell on her back, exhausted. "Where am I," she asked wearily.

"You are in the Savage Land, in Antarctica," a voice said from above her head.

She opened her eyes to see a slim man with glowing yellow eyes, and indigo fur. She raise her hand to his cheek, and smiled. "You are an angel," she said softly, before passing out.

- - - -

"What happened to her," Kurt asked, looking up to Professor Xavier.

"The circlet of metal on her head," the Professor began, "was controlling her mind." He seemed perturbed, almost as if it had hurt him to enter her mind. "She was imprisoned by Sybre, and was fighting the machine. Her mind … it reached out to me."

"Kurt," Jake interrupted.

"_Ja_?"

"I want you to get her out of here," Jake said. "Hank, go with him, make sure she is going to be all right." He turned towards the Professor. "Professor, sir, I would strongly recommend that you go with them."

"I will not leave until we all leave," the older man replied, a knowing look in his eyes.

"What is happening," Hank asked, catching the look the telepaths shared.

"The experiment," the Professor said, "I think it was successful." He was looking intently towards the back of the atrium, almost as if he could see straight through the rock.

- - - -

As Kurt and Hank left the front of the atrium, the rest of the X-Men turned towards the hallway at the back. Out of the gloom stepped Maddie, still dressed in the same clothes she had worn earlier. As she stepped closer, they could see that her skin was almost radiant. A broad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes was on her face. But, what drew their attention were her eyes. Normally a dark brown, they were now glowing white, the pale light shedding faint shadows on the floor. "Hello, X-Men," she said. And with a sudden movement, she raised her hands, and unleashed bolt after bolt of lightning.

The X-Men scattered, trying to dodge the powerful discharges. Unable to duck fast enough, Rogue received a bolt straight to the chest. She flew back against the wall behind her, destroying the equipment. Shaking her head to clear it, she took to the air, and charged towards the transformed mutant. Picking up speed, she aimed for the woman's chest.

Maddie raised her hand towards Rogue, and with but a thought, stopped the woman dead in her tracks. From her side, a powerful blast of ruby energy rocketed towards her with the strength of a speeding freight train. Snapping her head around, she greeted the blast with one of her own. The energy blasts met each other directly between the two mutants, canceling each other out. From her other side, a loud "snikt" was heard. She dropped Rogue, and with the same hand, created a TK barrier on her side.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, a metal bed came rocketing towards her. Realizing her mistake, she armored her body, the metal shining dully in the bright light. The bed caught her on the temple, though it only moved her head slightly. But it was enough. Her eyes had closed, cutting off the crimsons flow of energy. In that moment, Cyclops, realizing what she had done, increased the power of his own optic blast, easily knocking the woman off her feet.

"You'll pay for that," she hissed. She cocked both her fists back, and fired two massive energy blasts from her hands, flying towards Cyclops.

"NO, SCOTT!" Jean pushed him out of the way just in time, the great energy blasts hitting her in her abdomen. They sent her crashing into the wall behind her, her eyes slightly dazed.

"JEANNIE!" Logan was at her side in an instant, barely controlled anger bubbling under his eyes. "You okay, darlin'?"

"Yeah," she replied, as Scott now made his way towards her. "Oh, God," she said, looking down at her stomach. Beneath her rib cage, and above her navel, there was a large hole in her stomach, about the size of a CD. But, even as she noticed the injury, it started to heal. She could already feel her muscles starting to knit together, a million small pinpricks of pain, as if an army of ants was dancing on her stomach. She watched as the muscle, and then the skin, pulled together before her eyes. The whole effect was more than a little disconcerting. "It feels … weird," she said, slightly amazed.

"Good word fer it," Logan said, turning around. He saw Maddie fighting Storm and Cable. A powerful series of lightning bolts hit Maddie, seemingly striking against an invisible force field. In response, Maddie created a bolt of lightning that struck Storm in the back, the woman falling, unconscious, to the ground. She stopped less than a foot from the ground, before she was let down slowly, carefully. Wolverine came to her side, feeling for a pulse. Feeling one, he looked up just as Cable threw a bed at Maddie.

She swatted it aside, her entire body once again armored. Another bed came flying at her, and another, and another. Beds continued being thrown at her until the walls were bare. But, yet, nothing had fazed her. "I am growing tired of this game," Maddie yelled, yellow energy beginning to coalesce around her body. With a sudden yell, tentacles of energy snaked out from her body, homing in on the X-Men. The first tentacle struck Gambit in the chest, life energy pulsing from him towards Maddie. Rogue flew towards Gambit, intent on freeing her lover. But, as she touched him, some of the energy jumped to her, freezing her in place, and sucking out her life force.

"What's going on," Jubilee asked loudly. "None of us can do that."

"I believe that once she absorbed our powers, her DNA mutated, combining our powers in new ways," Celeste answered her. "We're going to have to team up on her, if we want to defeat her."

"Everyone," Jake spoke loudly, as if hearing Celeste. "I want you to give her everything you've got, all at once." Looking around, he made sure that everyone had heard him. "ON MY MARK!"

"YOU FOOLS," Maddie cried. "DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT A GODDESS?" With that, energy tentacles began rushing towards them. First one rushed them, then ten, then twenty, and then more, and more, until there were too many to count.

"NOW," Jake cried, white energy surrounding his arms. They fired all at once, massive discharges of energy attacking Maddie's. The energy met half-way between the combatants, a massive explosion rocking the atrium. Slowly, ever so slowly, Maddie's energies were forced back, the combined might of the X-Men more than she could handle. But as her energy reached her body, she erected a massive TK shield, protecting herself from the worst of the blast.

"Is that all you've got, X-Men," Maddie taunted. During the attack, both Gambit and Rogue had been freed. But, they were both lying on the ground, unmoving. "You couldn't even take your teammates from me before I took their lives."

"Remy!" It was Storm, having just recovered from her bout with Maddie. She'd seen her friend on the ground, and heard the other woman taunting them. With but a thought, she sent a lightning bolt towards Maddie. It struck against the same TK shield, sizzling the air around it, and dissipating, leaving the sharp tang of ozone.

"I've had just about enough of this." Betsy had become angry, frustrated at not being able to harm the super-powered woman before her. She'd been feeling a growing sensation in the pit of her stomach, and at the back of her mind. It had wanted her to fight, to maim, to kill the woman in front of her. But, she had been holding it back. It was not until she had seen Storm fire an ineffective lightning bolt, weakened though she was, that something snapped.

Jake looked to his side, only to see an amber glow overtake his lover's eyes. Her nails grew into claws before his eyes, her teeth becoming almost canine. Seeing her like this, he felt memories unloosen from his subconscious. He saw, almost as if he were still there, a wild version of himself maim and destroy several men, their blood and viscera staining the grass beneath them. And he suddenly knew what was going to happen. "No," he cried. But it was too late.

The creature that Betsy had become leapt forward, amber energy encasing its entire forearm. It leapt forward, cocking its clawed hand backwards. With a powerful motion, it struck the telekinetic shield, amber energy flowing along the invisible barrier. Maddie shrieked, holding her head in her hands, the blow not only breaking down the barrier, but causing a massive feedback.

The woman looked up, blood gushing in torrents from her nose. "You'll pay for that," Maddie hissed, spraying blood on the ground. She sent out more of the energy tentacles, intent on catching what had done this to her. But the Betsy-creature was too fast. It dodged, leapt, and rolled away from the tentacles, portraying agility that not even Beast or Nightcrawler could achieve.

Maddie sent out yet another tentacle. This time, though, the creature jumped towards her, the appendage missing it completely. The creature's entire arm was glowing with the same amber glow it had before, and with a singular, powerful blow, knocked Maddie into the wall behind her. But, the Betsy-creature did not stop there. It leapt forward, landing before Maddie, and began pummeling her. Blow after blow after blow, the creature beat on Maddie, both its arms glowing. With each blow, a small amount of energy stayed behind, seemingly boring into the woman. After what seemed like an eternity, the amber glow in the woman's abdomen began growing brighter, and brighter. At last, with a massive _whoomp_, the woman exploded in a massive eruption of light, blinding everyone in the atrium.

- - - -

"Betsy?"

"Betsy? Can you hear me?" She woke up suddenly, looking around her as if she'd just had a horrible nightmare. Above her, she saw Jake kneeling, his arms around her. She looked down, to see that she had been wrapped in Remy's ever-present coat.

"Why am I wearing Remy's coat," she asked.

"Your uniform was a little … small while you were that … um … thing," Jake said, not knowing what to call what she had become. It was the same thing that he had become, he had realized. And whatever it was, it was massively powerful.

She looked underneath the coat, careful not to open it too far. "Oh," she said softly. Sitting up, she looked around, slightly confused. "What happened to Maddie?"

"Um," Jake began. "You kind of made her blow up," he said a little sheepishly.

"Yeah," Jubilee cut in, "Celeste thinks you might've atomized her."

"And Sybre," Betsy asked. Despite the fact that she wasn't exactly proud of the fact that she may have killed someone, it was clear to her that more than one of her teammates was impressed.

"We don't know," Jake said, offering her a hand.

"We think he got away," Rogue added, supporting the other X-Woman.

"That is too …", Betsy began. She had gotten a far off look in her eyes. "Did you feel that," she asked, suddenly feeling a presence.

"Yeah, I felt it, babe," Jake answered. Looking around, they both tried to figure out what they had felt. But they couldn't see anything.

"It was probably nothing," Bobby said. Jake and Betsy looked at him, then at each other, and nodded. He was probably right. The X-Men walked out of the atrium, exhausted by their ordeal.

- - - -

At the apex of the dome, a creature, camouflaged with the rock, hissed as the last of the humans walked out. It had not expected them to be able to detect him. It had also not expected them to win; they were much stronger than they had given them credit for. Jumping down to the ground, it easily cushioned its 100-foot fall as it landed.

"Master will not be pleased," the creature hissed silently, as a black portal opened up. Stepping through, the portal closed behind him.

**Epilogue – En Route to New York**

"How is she doing," Jake asked.

"She is doing quite well," Hank replied, indicating the young woman near the back of the jet.

"Do you know what happened to her," the Professor asked, sitting next to Hank.

"She has told us she was kidnapped by Sybre maybe five years ago," the doctor replied. He hesitated; the woman's history was none too pleasant. Fortunately, Kurt had come up to speak with him, just as he had finished his sentence.

"She has been telling me quite a bit about who she is," Kurt said sadly. "Sybre, he used her, abused her. She was his personal bodyguard, assassin, and his lover." The furred man's tone was forlorn for what the woman had gone through. "He raped her mind, and her body. How anyone could do something like that …."

"And how is she doing now," Jake asked, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Well," Kurt replied. "She keeps telling me I am an angel," the man said softly. But there was something that he was holding back; his body was tense, almost as if he was ready to fight.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"She said," Kurt began, "She said that Sybre had a boss; one that he spoke with once a week or so." He paused, looking about ready to jump out of his skin. "She told me that his boss was Evil incarnate." He lowered his eyes, his shoulders hunching, as if he was taking on a heavy weight. "She said she had overheard them saying that we are to have three tests … three trials that will be forced upon us. And if we fail even one, we and everything we know, will be destroyed."

**End – Part I**

Please, please review. I want to know what you think. And check out the next part, "Creatures of the Night", coming soon.


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